Transdimensional Arsenic
by the3littlewords
Summary: "I'm the worst kind of scum, the cowardice Gryffindor. I'm no lion. I'm not even a snake. I'm a rat. That's why I'm asking you to kill me, kill me before I kill them and so many others." My twist on a Time-Turner SBHG fic, rated M for sexy scenes and various other things in later chaps, ohlala.
1. prologue

**AN: So basically Peter Pettigrew sends Hermione back in time to kill him and save the future, Hermione will have a crisis of conscious, fall in love with Sirius, yada, yada, yada yada and still save the future of course cos, let's face it, it would be a crap ending if she didn't.**

Prologue:

"Shh, Harry it's okay," Hermione soothed her raven haired best friend as he wept heavily into her arms. "It's not your fault there's nothing you could have done."

She continued to stroke his soft unkempt locks as he whined, "oh but Hermione Haven't you heard?" He queried with no small hint of sarcasm, no his voice held a huge amount, a giant standing on Everest with a second giant stacked on top of him huge amount. "I'm the chosen one. Come to save the world from Voldemort. Save all the lives of the poor oppressed wizards that stand against his blood supremacist ideals and bring an end to his reign of darkness. I'm supposed to save them all Hermione and Cedric just died for standing by me, for simply knowing me. I couldn't save him Hermione, I can't save anyone." He spat.

"Harry, it's not your job to save everyone. We're all here to help you. Me, Ron, Sirius Dumbledore, even Snape, the greasy prat that he is." Hermione pokes his sides with each name in an attempt to elicit giggles from the forlorn ticklish teen.

He calms at her prodding teases and his sobs turn to small stray tears that roll onto his best friend and confidant's… no, more than that, his sister's shirt slowly. In a barely audible whisper she hears him, "I couldn't save them."

Hermione sighs knowing exactly which 'them' he was referring to, his parents, "Harry how could you save them?! You were a baby! It was their love that saved _you_ from the dark curse."

"By being born just one day later, a few hours really, so I wasn't the baby in that damned prophecy."

"Harry I know you know you can't control your birthdate!" Hermione exclaims while trying to sooth his nagging, self-deprecating woes. He was being unreasonable, they both knew it, but he had an excuse to be. He had lost so much in his short life.

"Yeah, well the universe seems to think that a birth date can dictate your entire future so excuse my sullenness."

"Oh Harry, I wish I could change it for you. I would gladly take all your pain away if I could, you're my best friend. My brother. I would carry that burden for you and be glad for it. I wish I could save your parents, save you all this suffering. Even if it meant making the hardship my own I would do it just to see you happy." Hermione admits trying to sooth his pain away.

Ron, who had remained silently stoic whilst they sat huddled around Harry's bed in the Hospital wing, his emotions at play only behind hooded eyes in an endeavor to stay strong for the both of them, took this moment to let out a garbled, "same here buddy," clapping Harry on his trembling shoulder.

"But you can't." Harry states in a disturbingly matter-of-fact tone, she hated to think that he had accepted the ever present ache of loss as his only reality. "And I wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone especially not my two best mates."

"Harry I'm so sorry." Hermione cried as she tightens her embrace on him. "I'll do it I'll find a way to make this easier for you no matter what it takes." With that said her own emotions over take her and she dashes from the room, leaving Ron to comfort her brother, her kindred spirt, her Harry.

The second she enters the hall she lets go of the inharmonious sobs she'd been holding in for Harry's benefit. They ravage her body as she slides dejectedly down the wall, cradling her head between her knees and forearms; not even trying to stifle her groans. The tears overwhelm her as she leans her head back to pound it dismally against the stone walls of the castle, her castle. Hogwarts had always been home, but it couldn't keep her safe. Couldn't keep Ron safe. Couldn't keep _Harry_ safe. Not anymore. War was coming and no one was safe now, not a Muggle born witch and certainly not Harry flipping Potter, the 'Chosen One', the 'Boy Who Lived'.

But Merlin how she wanted to keep Harry safe, protect him from all this, he'd been through entirely too much already. She'd meant what she said earlier, she would do whatever it took to ease away his pain, but she didn't know what that was at the moment. And she didn't have the time to figure it out right then, she had a war to prepare for and a Dark Lord to defeat.

Hermione releases a resigned sigh as she stares at the flickering flame of a wall scone; not a second thought is spared for the shadow of a rat that passes beneath as she lets her powerful emotions lull her into a fitful sleep on the cold, hard palace floor.

~o~O~o~

(3 years later, the summer of the horcrux hunt)

Hermione fights the scream of anguish as Bellatrix carves the final 'd' of 'Mudblood' into the otherwise unblemished skin of her forearm. She refused to give the psycho bitch the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she'd caused her. After the seventh prolonged "Crucio!" Hermione's determination not to scream was fading fast as pure agony coursed through her tiny, writhing body. Her lungs burned with the illusion of drowning, her head throbbed with pressure as it threatened to explode, all her nails were peeled back from her finger, a million tiny daggers plunged into her, her skin was cut away from her body in great chunks, all these miseries and millions so much worse were the torturous sensations she felt while under the Cruciatus Curse.

Denying Bellabitch the satisfaction didn't matter anymore, all that kept her from shouting out was her resolve that Harry and Ron wouldn't hear, _couldn't_ hear. They would blame themselves, especially Harry; he had this whole world on his shoulders hero complex that was really starting to piss her off. If they knew what she was going through they would never forgive themselves and she couldn't allow that.

The crazed witch was getting pissed at Hermione's silence, "Where the fuck did you get the sword?" she demanded, indicating the sword of Gryffindor.

"I told you," Hermione barely managed to whisper, "the sword is fake." Earlier her tone would've seethed with anger, now she was weak and hoarse, all her strength long gone as her body was failing her. Oh how she longed for the ability to spit in the bitches face as she'd done previously, it had earned even more vigorous torture but the contented satisfaction had been well worth it.

After the ninth Crucio was lifted to no avail Bellatrix had had enough, "that's it we're getting nowhere. It's not even fun when you don't scream Mudblood. I can't be expected to… question… Mudblood filth if I don't even get a little something out of it! I suppose I should give the mutt Greyback a turn, he seems pretty taken with you, keeps begging for a better _taste_ of the sweet, sweet Mudblood. I'd say he's quite smitten, fitting really two… creatures… with tainted blood, one a monster the other a filthy magic stealer." Bellatrix sneers at her prone form, clothes ripped from the torture exposed bits of her skin; she would've shivered at feel of the cool, stale air of the manor against her flesh and the memory- _Fenir Greybeck licked the sweat from her neck and forced his lips upon hers as he tied her into the line of prisoners, 'I look forward to getting a better taste of you later pretty Mudblood'-_ if her body weren't paralyzed by the residual pain of torture.

She wanted to say _yes I'm sure the big bad wolf is far more frightening then good ole Voldy's slag_ ; she knew Bellabitch prided herself on the fact that her insanity stuck fear into the soul of those far greater then Hermione so that would surely strike a nerve. But alas Hermione lacked the fortitude to so much as open her mouth, so the crazy witch, with hair just as insane as her state of mind let lose a manic cackle as she strutted nonchalantly out the door.

"Pettigrew," she hears the older witch shout down into the dungeon where Harry and Ron sat, waiting for Hermione, "come up here and watch our… guest… in the entrance hall while I go _fetch_ myself a wolf." The witch cackles again at her play on words and Hermione sees her sauntering pleased down the hall as Wormtail enters the room.

She immediately notices that he's paranoid, more so then usual, as his eyes dart quickly around the room, looking for threats. _But who?_ She wonders, as her own eyes slowly swivel about; she is unable to so much as lift her cheek off the frigid marble ground, let alone turn her head to get a true look around, that being said however she was still fairly certain they were the only two in the room, and she certainly didn't pose much threat in her dilapidated state. Besides, who did he have to fear? Malfoy manor was a safe haven for Death Eaters, no one could get in but Voldemort's soulless minions, that unfortunate truth had Hermione numbly aware of the fact that she was as good as dead. So why was Peter so afraid?

Sure Wormtail was a coward but certainly even he wouldn't be this terrified of a petit witch, barely even of age. His twitchy behavior was downright suspicious, even if he was more rat then man at this point after being in animagus form for so long. Hermione's wonderments were quickly dashed away as the aftershocks of the Crucios raged through her vulnerable form and she squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn't bring herself to care about the rat's curious behavior as she fought through the blinding agony. She was exhausted, death would be welcomed at this point, thus she had no motivation to concern herself with the puzzling behavior of the traitorous ex-marauder.

Then he asked something that peeked her interest enough for her painfully tear open her clamped eyelids, honey brown meet beady black as he asked, "You really meant it, didn't you?" When her eyes widened the minute amount she could manage in question he elaborates, "When you said you said you would do anything to spare Harry further pain, you truly meant it. Right?" he clarified. "That's why you didn't scream when Bella clearly tortured you," he said indicating her body, "to spare him the guilt of knowing what was happening." It was a statement not a question and all she could do was glare in response, her vocal cords rebelling against her as they refused to cooperate and give a response.

The glare said something along the lines of 'of course I meant you idiot, Harry's my brother, my best friend. How dare you even think to question that?!'

The rat, in all his stupidity, still seemed to get the silent message of her death stare. "You're right I'm sorry," he gestured to her body, specifically to the racist slur on her arm, 'Mudblood'. "This indicates the answer is a clear and resounding yes." He continues as he begins to pace the floor in a brooding silence.

He speaks again a few moments later, "you can do it, save him from a life of pain." He informs as he takes a step towards her, "but you'll have to do as you swore you would at his bedside that night. You have to take on the misery of his losses all on your own."

Hermione would've gasped at the realization if she could, _he knew! He was in the Hospital wing the night Cedric died._ But she was confused, _why would a sniveling, cowardice Death Eater risk his hide to tell her how to help Harry? And what did he mean she would have to feel the 'misery of his losses'?_

The answers to the burning questions she was physically unable to ask came soon enough, "that's how I choose you, you know. Because you said you'd do anything for him. I knew if anyone could understand the necessity of the pain I have to put you through on this mission it would be you. Your love for Harry makes sure you understand," he explained as he held a Time-Turner up by its glistening silver chain. Her eyes widened in shocked understanding as he began turning it back repeatedly.

"I have to send you back," he says shortly, as if it were a simple truth not the end of Hermione's life as she knew it. "Send you back to where it all began, 1979, the height of the war, so you can save everyone and stop my betrayal. I know you won't do it for me, that's why I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Harry."

She wanted to spit at him, _don't you dare say his name!_ But all she managed was an incredulous 'duh-' sound.

"I'm not asking you to spare me, I know you must kill me, but please save James and Lily. And my mother to. I beg of. She was innocent in all of this, the Dark Lord threatened me with her life, that's why I gave up their location. Please protect her, keep her from his clutches, a dying man's last wish as you put the wand to my head." The rat animagus sniffled a humorless laugh as he stared with bleary eyes at the floor

"Do you know what he said to me as I watched the Dark Lord kill him?" he asks rhetorically some time later as his tears pool over at the memory of James' death. "He said to me, 'I forgive you Pete'. Simple as that as he breathed his last and I moved on to see Lily die and the Dark Lord vanish, not even trying to help her and honor one of my best friends' memory. A best friend who forgave me in the face of my ultimate betrayal." He groans before going on, "Then I went on and let Sirius go to Azkaban for what _I_ did, another of my best friends betrayed and now he's gone to because of me. I'm the worst kind of scum, the cowardice Gryffindor. I'm no lion. I'm not even a snake. I'm a rat. That's why I'm asking you to kill me, kill me before I kill them and so many others."

She looks up at him wide eyes pleading what her lips cannot, 'no! Don't take me from them! From all that I know! All that I love! Harry and Ron are all I have left, they need me! I need _them_!' She'd already lost her parents, she was oliviated from their lives by the work of her own wand, she didn't have much left to lose and here he was taking it all from her anyway.

But he refuses to look into her eyes as he slowly approaches her, "I'm sorry to have to do this to you Miss Granger," he confesses as he inches closer still, silver Time-Turner outstretched in trembling hands. "But the loss of your life as it is now is a necessary evil if the result is a You-Know-Who free future, don't you think? Think of it Miss Granger, you can end him before the second war even begins. The brightest witch in several generations surely possesses the prowess to do so."

He gives her an apologetic smile in an attempt to placate her as she sputters incoherently on the floor, Merlin's moldy toe rag she hated not being able to speak. She manages to stutter out a feeble, "P- p- please," as he takes the final step towards her.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger," he repeats as he begins to slip the silver chain that has now come to symbolize her doom over her defenseless neck. _Silver linings definitely aren't a good thing,_ she thinks as her eyes plead to him in a frenzied panic, the thin silver lining he was putting around her neck led to the end of this life; she would never again 'look for the silver lining' in a situation as her mother and Muggle proverbs recommended. They were, silver linings were, the end, not the beginning, not the good in the bad, or light in the dark. They were gloom and death and loss. "Think of all the lives you'll save, your sacrifice is not in vain Miss Granger," He tries to reassure her with a pitying look. She hated pity, especially from him, but even she pitied herself at this point.

'My sacrifice?! This should be yours to make' her eyes demand. But admittedly she knows he lacks the knowledge and skill to do what he's asking of her and he must to.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger," he reiterates with a pleading look that begs for the forgiveness she will never give, no matter how pure the motivation he has in doing this to her. Then he lets go of the Time-Turner and she's falling, back, back, back as it nestles between her breasts to rest over her heart.

Hermione lands with a thud on the dirt floor of a shack. She can't even look around, still immobilized by the after effects of her very recent torture and the disorienting symptoms of time travel. She moans as she sees the flashes of magical duels around her, taking small victory at the fact that she managed to produce sound from her stubborn throat. "H- hello." She gets out in mere whisper as the flashes die away and dark robed, silver masked figures retreat in puffs of billowing black smoke.

Eventually someone, two someones really, approaches her, wide brown eyes obscured by shaggy red fringe as the drink in her dreadful state. _Stocky red haired twins with brown eyes_ , she thinks in relief "Fred! George!" She whimpers in an exclamation of joy, Peter Pettigrew had failed to send her back in time!

Eyes widened further at her in confusion, _who were Fred and George?_ The two men wondered, _surely she didn't mean their new born nephews?_ _Yes that's impossible,_ they shrugged that theory off as they observed the mysterious women before them, her tattered clothes and wild honey eyes telling quite a story. _Wait did her arm say Mudblood?!_

Hermione opened her mouth to tell the twins that she was okay, that they need to go rescue Harry and Ron but all she got out was, "H- Harry-" before the events of the day caught up with her and she passed out with an agonized pant on the rough ground. Yes, little did she know she was in for a rude awakening whenever she recovered from her current crucioed hell.

The twins turned to each other as one asked the other, "Who the fuck are Fred and George?"

The other shrugs in acknowledgement of his ignorance on the matter. "Who the fuck is Harry?"

The latter's lookalike shakes his head in a signification of 'I have no bloody clue mate.'

"Who the fuck is she?" They wondered in unison, both sets of curious eyes returning to the petit girl in question. 

**AN: Hi everyone, so I love Sirius and Hermione and all SBHG fics but I have yet to find one that fits what I have in my mind perfectly so I have decided to write it, yay! Hopefully you like it and don't ignore it because the monotony of it being another Time-Turner fic it will be different from the rest I swear. Drop a review for me please, we fan fiction writers really like those. =)**

 **Wub,**

 **3lw**


	2. Chapter 1 Stage One: Shock and Disbelief

**AN:** Thanks to all who reviewed followed and favorited last chapter, you guys rock my socks! We will be going through all seven stages of Hermione's grief over the next few chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** I forgot this last time but as much as I may wish Sirius and all the other **HOT** men of the Harry Potter series belonged strictly to me they belong to the genius JK Rowling, well genius except when it comes to her canon pairings poor dear got those all wrong (well Harry and Ginny are okay I guess, kind of like the rebirth of Lily and James, but I still don't like them much. since they aren't at all my fave characters I really don't care though) This stands for all previous and future chappies in case I forget.

 **Warning:** and this is also likely to stand for all chapters as well, me no proof read.

Chapter one: Stage One: Shock and Disbelief

The first thing Hermione Granger saw when she woke in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of witch craft and wizardry was the twinkling cerulean eyes of her long dead headmaster, thus… she promptly passed right the fuck back out. _Because seriously I_ _ **saw**_ _him fall off the astronomy tower months ago,_ Hermione thought in utter disbelief, months that felt like years with all the misery that filled them.

When Hermione woke again twenty minutes later she was alone, she swung her legs over the beds edge and padded her small bare feet onto the cold stone floor of the palace school. She heard distant voices coming from Madame Pomphrey's office across the way…

"Yes just appeared sir-"

"-Out of nowhere really-"

"-Dropped right outta the sky-"

"-Into the middle of the battle field-"

"-It was weird-"

"-Real weird-"

"- She was all shiny-"

"-And glowing."

She heard two deep voices speaking in unison, finishing each other's sentences in a way Hermione recalled only Fed and George being able, and though these voices were undeniably similar to those of the two pranking twins, they weren't quite right; kind of like the two twins Hermione was sent to by Pettigrew looked like Fred and George but not exactly the same. She had stocked that up to the fact that she'd not seen the dynamic duo in a few months, now she wasn't so sure.

"Shiny and glowing are fairly synonyms Gideon," she heard one of the matching male voices point out with a humorous inflection.

"So what?" the other complained and she could essentially hear the pout in his voice. "You said, and I quote, 'she looks like a bloody redeeming angel falling from the heavens, come to avenge us all with her shiny, and glowing light', when she descended right on in there. You didn't seem to care that the two terms were 'fairly synonymous' then, did you Fabien."

"Touché, good sir. I digress. But she really did look like a fucking avenging angel."

"Agreed, she looked right pissed and ready to bash some evil death eater skulls when she floated in like that."

"Yup, and certainly not a hard one to look at either-"

"-Not if you want a different kind of hard one that's for sure-"

"-Hehe, nope-"

"- Not the slightest bit difficult-"

"-Those bright honey eyes-"

"-The curly hair that's the perfect kind of wild-"

"-the kind you want to see just how much crazier you can make when your running your hands through it as you fuck her into the streets."

Hermione could practically hear the other twined voice nodding in concurrence to that sexually depraved statement before the bantering continued, "And not to mention that pert rack-"

"-And her fine, delectable round arse-"

"-Yes perfectly plump in all the right places that one-"

"-Hot-"

"-Beautiful-"

"- Downright sexy-"

"-And cute to-"

"- Yes adorable-"

"-So tiny-"

"-So delicate-"

"-Soft, full, cupid's bow lips-"

"-Sculpted, arched brows-"

"-A framing of thick, long, dark lashes-"

"-Those little brown birth marks-"

"-Bellow her right eye-"

"-Above the curve of her upper left lip-"

"-On the right side of her chin-"

"-She's perfect-"

"-Just perfect-"

Hermione blushes because, **surely** these two unknown twins weren't talking about **her**? Though how many girls could've fallen into that shack during the middle of an Order vs. Death Eaters show down? she means sure she was passably pretty, she had never been in want for a date; she went to the yule ball with the well sought after, famous, hot, Bulgarian Quidditch seeker- a Bulgarian quidditch seeker that tried quiet hard to get into her pants that night by the way, but that's beside the point- Viktor Krum for crying out loud!

But still. Still she had never heard anyone say they wanted to 'fuck her into the sheets' which was a rather lude thing to say though oddly, in a disturbing way, flattering in all its vulgarity; the fact that she was even slightly flattered by that made her want to vomit. And she probably would've if her stomach wasn't completely free of contents after three days being passed out without eating, plus who knew when she last ate even before that; she had been on the run after all and she rationed the majority of her food out to Harry and Ron, their little mom they had called her. Not in an, 'Ugh, what are you my mom,' sort of way but the, 'thank you for taking care of me we love you,' sort of way; she smiled at the memory.

Then…

 _Harry, Ron! We have to go get them I have to tell these mystery men who think I'm so 'perfect' where to find them! They're probably still at Malfoy Manor! No one knows what happened! They might be dead right now! On Merlin's fluffy feather boa!_

Then…

A distinguished voice coughed for attention interrupting the other males who had, until then, continued on their praiseful rant that, for Hermione, had long since been drowned out by roaring thoughts. "Yes boys," came the voice of her illustrious headmaster, "I'm sure you could continue to list for hours all of Miss... whoever she is' positive attributes. She is certainly a lovely girl. Though I'm more curious as to whether or not the crew of Voldemort's… enthusiastic followers noticed her… decent from the heavens."

Wait.

Why didn't Dumbledore recognize her, his beloved top student and horcrux hunter?

Wait.

Dumbledore…

Dumbledore?

 **Dumbledore?!**

Dumbledore was dead! She'd seen him die! Seen him fall right over the walls of the astronomy tower! So how was he here?! How did he not recognize her?! Who were these not Fred and George Fred and Georges?! They were the only set of syncronized, red head twins **she** knew of and if it wasn't them...

Then…

"Oh, the gremlins? We don't see how they couldn't have, I mean she plopped right down in there in the center of everything," said a twin. Not Fred she had decided to call him, though she had learned from listening to the conversation that he was Fabian. A twin named Fabian. Fabian Prewett. One of the Prewett twins. Fabian and Gideon. The uncles of the Weasley clan. The **dead** uncles of the Weasley clan. The **dead** as of 1981 uncles that **her** twins were named for. Fabian and Gideon. F and G. Fred and George.

Then…

"They're idiots though so… We think only the Lestrange bitch saw her and she won't tell anyone, not even her precious Dark Lord, until she can catch her and bring her in for herself; she'll likely want garner all the praise and glory she can for doing it just so she can satisfy her sadistic crush. She is his most… enthusiastic, as you say, follower after all." Said not George, Gideon.

Then…

Hermione couldn't hear it anymore.

Not any of it.

Not Dumbledore's "we won't let that happen."

Not the twin's declarations of agreeance and protection.

Not the groups idle wanderings of the significance of her presence.

None of it, because her ears were rushing.

Because not Fred, not George.

Because Fabien, Gideon.

Because, 'we think only the Lestrange bitch saw her.'

Because Bellatrix saw her and she was running.

Running.

Running as fast as her recently tortured limbs could carry her, recently tortured by Bellatrix, down the halls of the castle she once saw as home.

Because she wasn't dreaming, she had just woken up; she had pinched herself, drawn **blood** , to make sure. So she was delusional. She was having a delusion, she was tortured into insanity. Her mind, her greatest weapon, had finally failed her and she was tortured into insanity. _This must be what Neville's parents feel every day,_ she muses as the tears she doesn't know she's shedding begin to mount up in her rapidly blinking eyes and lashes, and the rushing walls and scones of fire start to blur.

And she is running.

Running…

Running.

 **Running**!

Because she has to escape her illusion.

Has to get to Harry and Ron.

Has to find herself so she can find them.

But if this is an illusion would she not be less self-aware? Wouldn't she know all these crazy, impossible things to be true because that's what delusions were, believing in crazy, impossible things? Seeing insane visions of monsters and past demons and the ones we miss there in front of us long after they've gone and knowing them to be your reality? But then again maybe not she didn't know what delusions were like, she'd never had one before, and surely they were different for everyone so there couldn't be a book on it, she'd of read it if there was, and this most certainly had to be one for it could be nothing else.

Then...

She was crashing.

Crashing into something hard and yet somehow soft.

Something tall and lean and muscled.

Something distinctly human… and male; definitely male.

And this male something was holding her shoulders, looking at her with wide grey eyes, long lashes casting a thick ring of shadows on his face as his gaze pointed downwards at her much smaller stature. The grey eyes peer at her tear littered cheeks and the man's brow furrows in concern. But all she sees is his long, wavy, ebony hair, the defined, aristocratic lines of his high cheekbones and masculine jaw perfectly incongruous with his faint expanse of stubble.

And he is Sirius, Sirius black.

Sirius black who is gone, who feel through the veil two years ago.

She was staring at a corpse, she was surrounded by corpses, every one she has seen in the past hour is a corpse, and every voice she has heard has belonged to a corpse, and she could vaguely hear his now- "Miss, Miss are you alright"- she heard; it was low and deep and warm, so warm.

Then…

It was gone and he was gone, except for his arms as he was catching her, as everything was going black. Because this was a delusion, it **had** to be a delusion, because last she checked he was **dead;** they all were **dead!** But also because she knew it wasn't a delusion. Even then her mind was telling her she could never delude something so perfect, someone so perfect; even then the burn between her breasts where the Time-Turner had melted, unable to handle such a long trip back, reminded her that it had to be real, and he had to be real.

And she was whispering, whimpering, mumbling, "Sirius, Sirius Black... you can't be, and they can't be, and none of you can be. Not that you shouldn't be, not that you don't deserve to be but... Why? Why did he do this to me?"

And she thought she must of heard, "who? Why did who do what to you?"

But then the darkness ensconced her completely and she was convulsing, shaking, crying, consumed, because this all had to be a delusion but it couldn't be and it wasn't; and she couldn't breathe because this couldn't be real, **he** couldn't be real, **they** couldn't be real, none of it **could be real.** Except for it was. And she couldn't believe it. She was in shock. More shock then her tortured body could handle as she fainted.

Again.

For the third time in as many days.

For the third time in three fucking days she fainted.

And he was carrying her limp body in a cradle hold to his chest back to the infirmary; where she would wake up and have to remember, remember that it wasn't all just some dream or self-made illusion brought on by torture induced insane delirium. Remember that he was real, they were real, and she was really here.

And she was really bloody fucked.

Totally fucked.

Royally fucked.

Bloody fucking hell.

~o~O~o

Sirius Black is a man of simple proclivities. He needs only a few, mundane, easy things to survive; all the obvious of course-food, shelter, water, etcetera- but also some other deemed necessities that were really just his own, such as Motorbikes, firewhiskey, tobacco, marauders, and a warm bed with a warm and willing body.

He was merely fulfilling one of those needs when he got a message from a set of matching patroni- Patroni, Patronuses, who knew really- that held distinct notes of urgency; the matching set of bumbling bears that indicated the Prewett twins' means of communication.

"Sirius man-"

"-Dumbledore told us to send for you right quick-"

"-He needs you here at Hogwarts man-"

"-Yup, it's a bit of an… emergency we suppose-"

"-It's all quite strange really-"

"-Quite strange-"

"-Just come soon man-"

"-We need you." Informed the voices of Fabian and Gideon Prewett in that strange, spring board way they had of finishing each other's thoughts.

"Please," they finished together.

So Sirius groaned, stretched, and rolled the weight of the tall pale blonde off of his chest. Luckily he wasn't with one of his muggle conquests, that little glittering blue message would've taken a **lot** of explaining otherwise; no he was in the bed of fellow Order member and acrobatic sex extraordinaire Marlene McKinnon, one of his few repeat offenders. Though not an offender really, what they did certainly wasn't offensive- well to them anyway everyone's order mother Molly Weaslay would say otherwise- pleaser or pleasure companion was much more accurate.

"Sirius," she whined, attempting to crush her pale breasts back against him; she wasn't a curvy woman, she was the stick thin, tall glass of water, modelesque type of girl, and gorgeous in all her wispiness. The kind of girl he generally went for, they usually got the concept of a one night stand or friends with benefits type of deal; they were aware of their undeniable beauty and aware that it attracted the desire for one thing, sex. "Come back to bed I'm not finished with you yet and I wanna snuggle."

"As lovely and promising as that sounds, It's Order Business Marley, and you know what that means." Plus Sirius wasn't really a snuggler, the only reason he stayed to hold a woman after was out of a sense of duty and respect, his women always got more pleasure then he took from them, well with the exception of the occasional more vapid slag which he only deemed worthy of giving him a quick blowy in some alley.

"Yes Sirius. I know what the Order is, I am part of it after all, but it didn't sound to _serious."_ She emphasized as a joke, Merlin he hated when people made a mockery of his name, only he got to do that, and of course his mauraders. "We have a few more minutes to rock each other's worlds to the tune of those muggle bands you like so much."

"Tempting Marley, really, but I beg to differ. The Prewett twins said please so it must be _serious."_ He tried not to sneer at his own repeat of her playful mocking but failed. "Those guys fancy themselves a two man army, they rarely ask for help and when they do it's in a very caviler take it or leave it manner, there pleases are reserved for serious issues and 'please pass the potatoes' and since I don't see any food anywhere or Molly here scolding them about their manners so I can only assume that this is _serious._ Plus they said it was a bit of an emergency, so it must be. Don't act desperate Marley it's not pretty, even on you. _"_

"I'm **not** desperate," she scoffs. Then her tone turns teasing again, "Oh, and you're right they **are** almost as bad as you with your cocky **one** man army and ridiculous hero complex."

"Yes well the ladies love it, I mean you practically eat it up Marley."

"Funny I only recall one of us eating anything today and it certainly wasn't me."

Sirius rewards her biting remarks with a chuckle, "My, my Marley! How vulgar, that's not the tongue of a properly brought up young lady," he admonished as he waggled his finger.

Marlene McKinnon bit and sucked said finger, "you love my dirty tongue," she smirked as she licked the appendage.

"I like it alright," he agrees as he gives her a deep kiss just to remind her that she loves his tongue and what it can do all the much more. He has proved many times over that his is an expert capable of many, _many_ pleasurable things.

"Now I really must be going," he proclaims as he breaks off, much to her sighs of loss. He doesn't even bother to wait for her response as he turns on the spot to disapperate to the edges of Hogsmeade and the gates of Hogwarts.

Now when Sirius said the thin model types are aware of the ins and outs of a onetime sexual encounter he failed to mention that the equally gorgeous curvy girls aren't so much. They're always so self-doubting, it's almost criminal really, the epitome of 'does this dress make my butt look fat?' Yes, yes it does sweetheart and it's gorgeous. Now he doesn't want to sound like some pot brained, feminist, hippie but magazines and fashion culture really did present idyllic beauty standards in ways that weren't possible and just plain wrong. He highly suspected that some shrill muggle fashion guru got jealous of all that fabulous curvaceousness out there and decided, 'let's but those girls down by idolizing the underweight,' it was vaguely disturbing, irrefutably unhealthy, and really pissed him the fuck off. Got in the way of a good shag that did; self-conscious girls were easy enough to get between the sheets sure, but the guilt after was nearly unbearable. They didn't understand the concept of a one night stand, no matter how plainly Sirius explained it. Thought they weren't good enough for anyone and him leaving forever after some mind blowing sex, because with him its always mind blowing, just cemented that for them. They were wrong of course and every once and a while you came across a bird who got that but they were too few and far between to risk it and he never sought to hurt women with his whole dine n' dash outlook on sex; he was a chivalrous, dashing, dapper young gentleman after all.

But the curvy girls always got hurt, so he could never be with them.

He blamed the media.

Fuck the media and 'scrawny not brawny'; well brawny wasn't the right word to describe it, to masculine, but scrawny not perfectly curved didn't have the same ring to it and brawny was scrawny's antonym just the same- and that's what a stick to curves comparison was, an antonym, very fitting.

He wished he could get the best of both worlds, he loved- well lusted really, Sirius did not feel that kind of love, a pesky dangerous emotion it was, no he only felt familial love, the kind he felt for the marauders, for lily, and for his honorary parents the Potters - women from both sides of the spectrum, he didn't discriminate; he was fighting a war against a blood supremacist, prejudice, sadist Dark Lord for crying out loud! But alas he could not. He refused to bring emotions into sex- it was merely a base human need that he quite enjoyed fulfilling, nothing more- especially not the guilt that came from picking the more vulnerable, doubtful prospective partners. So thus Sirius settled for burying his needs and channeling his frustrations between the thighs of his chicken legged models, they've worked well enough for years and there's a reason that the fashion world glorifies them after all, they're a gorgeous type, one side of an antonym that equaled its counterpart in beauty.

Thus he knew the beautiful woman that ran into his chest whispered his name and started muttering was not one of his previous conquests, she was definitely not the tall, stick model type he was used to. No, she was tiny, curved, and soft in all the right places. And she was crying, "Sirius, Sirius Black... you can't be and they can't be and none of you can be. Not that you shouldn't be, not that you don't deserve to be but... Why? Why did he do this to me?"

If not a previous fuck buddy, then how in Merlin's name did she know him? There was clear recognition in her fire whiskey eyes when she looked up into his stormy grey ones, and it was rather off putting as he was certain he had never before seen this women in his life. Not to sound cliché or anything but he'd remember those eyes; they did represent his choice beverage - his nectar of the gods so to speak - fire whiskey after all. She couldn't be more than a couple years younger than him –maybe 17? - yet he was sure they did not attend school together; he was well acquainted with the majority of Hogwarts' female population of his day.

Her rambling was utterly confusing, it made absolutely no fucking sense. Was this women mad? "Who? Why did who do what to you?"

She didn't answer as she passed out in his arms muttering about being 'surrounded by corpses' and 'bloody fucking fucked.' _Yup definitely batty, this one,_ he mused as he carried her limp form through the long bright corridors of the school. Though he had to appreciate her… **vivid** vocabulary.

He entered the hospital wing to view a scene of frantic mass hysteria, it was practically pandemic. The Prewett twins were running amuck searching under beds shouting out a song of "Oh where, oh where has our wild angel gone?! Oh where, oh where could she be?"

And Madame Pomphrey was tutting at the headmaster about, "leaving the poor girl unattended."

The headmaster was calling the house elves to bring about a search of the grounds and it took several loud clearings of Sirius' throat before he gave up to let out a raucous whistle. Four rather confused faces turned his way as he called for an end of the pandemonium. He raised an eyebrow at the circus freak show the bustling adults provided, the twins paused, crouched on the ground with a bed skirt in their hands, as they slowly turned their heads to face him, Madame Pomphrey stood mouth agape and finger still prodded in the headmaster's chest from her fresh scolding, and Dumbledore stood the same as ever with a bemused smile on his face and light blue eyes a twinklin'.

"Does anyone want to tell me just what the bloody hell is going on? What is so urgent about a mad witch with a Sirius Black obsession? Pardon my language, Headmaster, Poppy." Sirius says inclining his head in apology. "You're all lucky its summer break or you would have a slew of confused students on your hands. What on **earth** are you doing letting a patient run wild around a school? Moody would be so very disappointed, 'constant vigilance' indeed."

No one says anything for a few minutes until…

The silent scene ceased to be paused. "Our avenging wild angel," the twins exclaim as they rush forward so Fabien can scoop her prone form out of Sirius' arms. None too soon if you asked him there is definitely something not right about that women that he was dying to figure out. She made him want to run away and hold on tight at the same time, very curious. He simply **has** to discover all her intriguing, infuriating secrets.

"Bit cocky aren't ya Sirius?" Gideon asks with a scoff and an eye roll. "Sirius Black obsession my ass."

"Well she knows who I am and I've never seen her before so she must be **some** kind of stalker." He states matter-of-factly.

Fabien pipes up, "preposterous, our little angel is no stalker. Particularly not of the cocky Sirius Black!"

"Oh, I'm sure she would much prefer to follow the comings and goings on obnoxious red heads," Sirius retorts sarcastically with an eye roll.

"Quite right. She would." The twins confirm in unison.

"Well, be sure to keep a better eye on you your angel. I don't want to have to catch her as she falls again."

"Oh but Sirius I thought you liked to have beautiful women in your arms," Gideon joked.

"Oh, I **surely** do. But you could hardly consider her **your** angel if **I'm** the one to keep catching her," Sirius jokes back.

By this point the headmaster deems it time to intervene with the seriousness of reality. "Misters Prewett, could you please place the young miss angel, as you call her, on a bed? I believe we have quite a bit to inform Mister Black on, you have a rather delightful, if not puzzling, story to share. Do you not."

Then they all sit down to catch up on and ponder the mystery that is the twin's 'wild angel'.

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! I hope you liked that latest installment. Sorry for all the swearing (I hate curse words but I feel they're part of a war time mentality if not verbally then at least in the character's mind, the story is rated M for a reason) and the twins long winded description of Hermione's 'assets'. I just couldn't get over the twins talking about her delectable ass and firm breasts in front of the headmaster, I could totally just see him standing there with an amused smile as they carried on and Fabien and Gideon are going to be a lot like Fred and George and I would imagine they don't have much respect for authority figures when it comes to their jokes and crass language lol. But don't think by any means this fic will be a constant continuation of describing the two main characters I'm not going for the whole 'it is the east and Juliet is the sun' (Shakespeare like you don't already know) type of deal. Anyway thanks again for reading I really appreciate the support thus far and would appreciate any continued support through any reviews follows or favorites you're awesomesauce cubed.

Wub~

3lw


	3. Chapter 2 Stage Two: Pain and Guilt

**DISCLAIMER:** Want it, don't got it (aka don't own it) I added a cover image I just want to inform everyone that I also don't own that I found it on the internet, just pretend the girl he's kissing in it looks like Hermione all credit for the image goes to whoever made it thank you for putting it on the internet for our viewing pleasure

 **WARNING:** me no proofread and probably never will

 **AN:** This beginning part depicts Hermione's dreams right after she passes out in Sirius' arms and the all italic part in her section depicts a memory. Also thank you so much for your support of this fiction thus far. Over 50 follows! Almost 20 favorites! You guys spoil me, especially you reviewers, don't tell the others but I love you most. Jk, lol it's wrong to pick favorites, unless you're favoriting my story that is.

Chapter two: Stage 2: Pain and Guilt

 _"Hello Kitten, so glad you could join us for the rest of Holiday!" says the exuberant voice of Sirius Black as he ruffles the long, thick, wild curls indicative of one Hermione Granger._

 _She scowls at him but the amused glint in her firewhiskey eyes gives her away, "I was just here a couple weeks ago Sirius and what makes you say I'm a kitten Snuffles? I am proud to say I am a lion, or rather lioness, who brings great honor to my most venerable Gryffindor house!" she exclaims as she playfully swats his chest, the raven haired marauder had a way of bringing out the playful side of the extremely grave soon to be fifteen year-old. Though who could fault her solemnity, she had been attempting protect her chosen one best friend, the very same Sirius Black's nephew, from the dark lord since the age eleven, assisting in a war, the likes of which even an adult is hard pressed to be prepared for, from the second she entered the wizarding world as a young child; not to mention getting said chosen one, Harry Potter, and her other best friend Ronald Weasley to do their homework. That was the real challenge, she swore sometimes she felt more like a mother rather than a best friend and sister; at least there were no nappies to change she was certain a baby Ron would be unbearable he whined enough as a nearly grown teenager, the loveable goof._

 _"Why my dear girl, I do not question that you are marvelous scion to our great house! But a lioness is nothing but an over grown kitten, and you pet are far from over grown. Can't be more than what three feet tall, huh short stack?" he jokes. "Though you do have quite the adorable mane there love." Sirius says with a smirk as he again ruffles the young witches trademark brown hair._

 _"I'll have you know that Madame Pomphrey measured me at five feet and a quarter of an inch the very end of last year!" she protests as she slaps his chest again in jest._

 _"Oh would you stop with the quarter of an inch 'Mione, just say five feet!" Harry says as he bounds down the steps of Grimmauld place to give his long awaited best friend a hug._

 _"Oh Harry I've missed you so much," she squeals as she throws her arms around her best friend. "I'm so sorry I missed your birthday last week but don't you dare think that gives you the right to jip me my extra quarter inch, it's there, Madame Pomphrey says so."_

 _"Yeah and she also said you were done growing, taller anyway," He winks facetiously as he indicates the font of her still rapidly filling jumper with long past budding breasts. "And I missed you to 'Mione," he proclaims as he ardently reciprocates her tight, friendly embrace. "Don't worry about missing my birthday though, I had all the Weasleys and with the twins here it was sure to be a blast," He assures her as she rolls her eyes at the thought of the notorious twins' antics. "Plus I got those new quidditch gloves you sent me, they're really awesome; though you will still have to bake some of those awesome brownies of yours, don't tell Mrs. Weasley but they're even better then hers." Harry says with another wink._

 _Hermione gasps in mock indignation, "you wish for me to withhold knowledge of such a blatant betrayal from my dear friend Molly?" She says her face a false semblance of shock and disbelief._

 _"Dear friend?" Harry asks mouth agape._

 _"Why yes Harry, Molly wishes to one day marry me off to someone in her varying assortment of Weasley boys and become an official member of the family she has so lovingly inducted me into by matter of adoption." Hermione informs with faux primness._

 _"Something tells me she'll have quite the resistance from the boys at school," Harry smirks at this not all too surprising pronouncement, Molly had always loved Harry and Hermione as her own._

 _Hermione rolls her eyes as Sirius pipes up, "is that so?"_

 _"Yup," Harry confirms, "Even the Slytherins can't resist our 'Mione. She'd never date a snake though, they're the type who think you're supposed to make fun of the girl you like to get their attention or some shit. You know the whole pulling the pigtails thing? It's like the slimy gits are stuck in primary," Harry says wrinkling his nose in disgust._

 _"Language," Hermione scolds swatting the back of his head and mussing his already ruffled and untidy hair even more._

 _"Sorry 'Mione," is his singsong apology. "Say can you believe she dated an international quidditch star last year Pads?"_

 _"Sure can, I would've even if I hadn't seen it in the papers," Sirius says as he meets the whiskey brown eyes of the witch in question and that strange tugging they feel deep in their heart strings, at the very base of their souls, plays up again in the both of them. Neither understand it but it's certainly not unwelcome, it fills them with the desire to be around one another, protect one another; they both shake their heads dismissively to rid themselves of the strange sensation._ _ **And forbidden,**_ _Hermione chastised herself,_ _ **he's twenty years older than you and your best friend's godfather! You're probably imagining it anyway, and he definitely can't feel it too no matter what you think you see in his eyes.**_ _"Our 'Mione is beautiful." He finishes as they are shaken from they're stupor._

 _"You should be saying you believe it despite the papers, that Skeeter woman is absolutely vile." Hermione pouts remembering the many papers depicting her as the gold digging whore who broke the heart of the boy who lived. She swore one more article about her playing bed swap with the triwizard champions was going to drive her insane, then throw Ron into the mix of her apparent throws of passion and who could blame her for putting the buggy little bitch in a jar, literally._

 _"Oh stop worrying about that 'Mione, you took care of her good," Harry proclaimed._

 _"Well Harry," Hermione corrected._

 _"Well what?" Harry asked confused_

 _"It's took care of her well," she explains._

 _"No I think it's good," Harry teased to rile her up. He always told her she was funny when debating topics like schoolwork, propriety, and such, though he elaborated to say that you never wanted to push her too far because apparently an angry Hermione was a scary Hermione._

 _"Nope," she affirms. "You could say I took good care of her but if you switch it around like that it's I took care of her well."_

 _"I don't think sooo," Harry sings playfully._

 _"I assure you Harry," Hermione begins but narrows her eyes at him as a realization dawns. "HARRY JAMES POTTER! I told you to stop trying to put me on for laughs, my arguments are not funny! They're very serious."_

 _"No love I'm Sirius," Sirius smirks in jest._

 _"I wouldn't joke around like that if I were you, she might start spewing off about spew." Harry warns in a not so quiet conspiratorial whisper with a laugh._

 _"Spew?"_

 _"This house elves rights organization she started last year, really passionate about it; save little elf lives one hand knitted bonnet at a time."_

 _"That's adorable," Sirius states as they continue to pretend to ignore a fuming Hermione with their false boisterous whispers._

 _"Oh you haven't seen her in action,_ _ **spewing**_ _off and such," Harry moans as he puts on a face of self-pity._

 _Once Hermione finally stops sputtering in outrage she screams, "IT'S_ _ **S.P.E.W**_ _, NOT SPEW HARRY."_

 _"Aww 'Mione, I'm sorry. Forgive me and I promise I'll help knit loads more hats and maybe a few scarves too," Harry promises in mock seriousness before the two males both burst out laughing._

 _"Whatever, I'm going to go tell Molly I'm here." Hermione huffs with a pout._

 _"Oh come on 'Mione don't be like that," Harry pleaded as he tugged on her hand. "And since when do you get to call Mrs. Weasley Molly? Totally unfair."_

 _"Since I'm mature and don't say things like 'totally unfair'" she mocks pantomiming a Valley Girl accent._

 _"Hey, that's not very mature, and Valley Girl is an American thing, I don't sound like that," Harry protests._

 _"You do Harry," Sirius confirms with a smirk._ _ **A sexy smirk. Gah, head out of the gutter Granger!**_

 __ _"See," Hermione grins victoriously. "And Molly says that anyone who can get her darling Harry and lunatic son Ron through school is a miracle and therefore mature enough to consider a peer worthy of the using her first name."_

 _Harry frowns, "Well at least she said her darling Harry. I suppose I could've been a lunatic as well."_

 _"Yes you definitely qualify," Sirius agrees._

 _Harry continues to frown as Hermione's smirk of victory grows, then a look of enlightenment crosses his countenance. "Say if you're just_ _ **so**_ _mature… then why do you lie and tell everyone that asks in school that you're 5' 3"?" Harry queries with a smirk of his own._

 _"I- I," Hermione sputters._

 _"Well, Well, Well. What's this I hear? Our dear 'Mione wishes to be taller?" Sirius exchanges a conspiratorial glance with his godson that Hermione doesn't miss for a second._

 _"Hey, don't-" she begins to protest._

 _"Don't what 'Mione?"Harry taunts, "Don't tell dear Sirius that since the heels on the school shoes add a bit of height so you think you can get away with an outright lie? Not very_ _ **mature**_ _of you, don't ya think?" his smirk widens, "Say Sirius, you think we ought to punish her?"_

 _Sirius grins and a mischievous glint lights up his beautiful grey eyes, "no Harry. Our poor dear Hermione is just curious and pining for something she can never have,-"_ _ **oh you have no idea,**_ _she thinks morosely-"great height. I just feel so sorry for her don't you?"_

 _Harry looks confused for a second then a light of understanding fills his emerald orbs as he catches on, "Sure, Sirius. I feel right bad for poor 'Mione. Whatever will we do to right this grave injustice?"_

 _"Well love," Sirius says as he turns to Hermione and tugs on her hand to pull her to him. When his skin touches hers she fights the urge to gasp the tingling sensation that overtakes her entire body as the now familiar plucking feeling that stirs in the depths of her soul rings out again at the contact; he seems to shake himself into composure before continuing, "It seems to me that it's your dream to be taller. Such a mature young lady and good friend to our dear Molly deserves to have all her dreams come true, I think." And without further consideration Sirius leans down, grabs Hermione by the waist and throws her over the right shoulder of his long, lean and muscled 6' 3" frame, supporting her with an arm around her knees._

 _Once Hermione shakes off the surprise she begins to pound her small fists on Sirius' back in protest. "Put my down this instant Sirius Orion Black," She scolds but her giggles give her away._

 _Sirius begins to swing her around and she screams, squealing, "Don't drop me Sirius, please don't drop me," in breathy pleads._

 _Sirius swings her around to cradle her small body to him in a princess hold against his chest, "don't worry love, I'd never let you fall."_

 _ **I think it may be too late for that,**_ _she muses. She's afraid she's fallen for her best friend's godfather,_ _ **Hard**_ _._

(Change in dreamscape)

 _Harry moans in pain and clutches his scar, "What is it harry? What's wrong?" Hermione dashes over to him in a fret of worry._

 _She sees a stray tear roll down his cheek and thus clutches him to her chest as a way of comfort, "He has Sirius Hermione. Voldemort has Sirius in the ministry, he's torturing him." Hermione tenses at his revelation; not due to his use of the dreaded name- after all as a wise man once said fear of a name serves only to increase fear of the thing itself and she refused to give Voldemort that power over her- no, what had her tenses was the news that the great lord oh snaky one had Sirius._

 _"Harry, he knows about your connection, he could be trying to trick you, draw you out so he can finally kill the-boy-who-lived." Hermione reasoned._

 _Ron walks over and questioned, "What's this about the-boy-who-won't-bloody-well-die?"_

 _"Voldemort's got Sirius," Harry answers bleakly._

 _"Gah the name Harry, don't say the name," Ron whines._

 _"Oh, get over it Ron can't you see that's not important right now." Hermione rolls her eyes. "Voldemort isn't even his name anyway, it's Tom Riddle, and he's nothing more than a coward afraid of death with a really icky snake face."_

 _"Oh our grown up little Hermione said icky, yes I really see all the maturity mum always drones on about," Ron snorts._

 _"Not the point right now Ronald!" Hermione chides._

 _"Yeah Ron, he's got Sirius, he's got Sirius!" Harry reiterates frantically._

 _Hermione thinks about repeating that its most likely a trick, Sirius wouldn't leave Grimmauld place for essentially anything and if he had they would likely be notified, but if there was even the remote possibility Sirius was in danger she had to be there; that tugging at her heart, her soul, told her so. "Right lets go. Where to?"_

 _"The department of mysteries, they're torturing him in the department of mysteries," Harry answers as the three dash from the common room to round up Dumbledore's Army._

 _(Change in dreamscape)_

" _I don't see him," Neville acknowledges with a frown._

 _"No dip Sherdock," Ron rolls his eyes._

 _"Nice try at a muggle reference, but its Sherlock Ron, and don't be mean to Neville." Hermione corrects._

 _"He's after the prophecy Harry he'll come with Sirius once he knows you have it, the nargles are sure of it," the dreamy voice of Luna assures as she points at the glowing blue orb Harry is staring at. Muttering 'I need to hear it.'_

 _"Just one problem we don't have Black," comes the cold drawl of Lucius Malfoy._ _ **So arrogant he doesn't even wear a mask, thinks it's so easy to win, we'll see about that,**_ _Hermione scoffs._

 _"Where is he Malfoy?!" Harry spits._

 _Bellatrix's evil cackle sounds behind them and all heads whip around to regard her, "Oh my dear cousin is fine; it's you and your mudblood and blood traitorous friends you should be worried for." Hermione knows she should be worried, terrified even but all she feels is relief that Sirius is safe and determination to take down some death eater scum. "Give us the prophecy," Bellatrix continues with a demand._

 _"Never," The group says together._

 _"Voldemort will never know the prophecy, Harry and us will protect it." Hermione states resolutely as she flexes her wrist to release her wand from her forearm holster._

 _"How dare you say the dark lords name filthy mudblood," Bellatrix screams as she hurls an angry curse at Hermione which she deflects with ease destroying a whole row of prophecies._

 _"She dares because Voldemort is nothing more than a psychotic fuck up who's too cowardly to acknowledge his muggle ties by using his real name, Tom Riddle." Harry sneers._

 _"Ahh," Bellatrix screams as she unleashes a barrage of curses._

 _"REDUCTO," Hermione screams and she pulls on the hands of Neville and Luna as she runs down the aisle to her right, praying all the way that her other friends escaped the massive explosions of shelves and glowing prophecies she had just caused._

 _Though if they did so would the death eaters, ugh._

 _ **Great, this is just great.**_ _Hermione thinks as she runs into a large, circular atrium through another side door._

 _Just then she sees Harry, Ginny and Ron enter through another door to the left and breathes a sigh of relief. That relief is short lived however as fifteen Death Eaters burst through the doors behind them._

 _ **Fifteen Death Eaters against six student witches and wizards, great, just great.**_

 __ _No sooner than Hermione thought this than seven order members descended from the skies, literally, and again she breathes a sigh of short lived relief; short lived because Sirius is amongst them,_ _ **damn it all to hell.**_ __

 __ _But Hermione has no time dwell on this as she is thrown into a duel with Antonin Dolohov and two others,_ _ **wow they must be really mad that a 'mudblood dared to use the Dark lords name.'**_ _She muses as she hurls spell after spell at her aggressors._

 _As she takes down the other two with quick, stupefies and incarcerous spells Dolohov screams at her, "You'll pay for that mudblood."_

 _But she simply waves her wand to silence him and ignores the furry in his black eyes as she focuses on something else entirely. "Sirius," she screams as she sees his cousin Bellatrix sneak up behind him as he finishes binding Lucius Malfoy to end their duel as victor. He turns and his eyes narrow on her, "look out she screams." As she indicates Bellatrix he begins to turn but is too late, "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS," Hermione screams as she waves her wand at Bellatrix but her eyes never leave Sirius' gorgeous grey ones as her spell fails to hit Bellatrix just as the crazy bitches own hits it's mark and Sirius begins flying backwards through the veil. His stormy sorrowful eyes are the last thing she sees before an indescribable pain take over and she is plunged into darkness. But the unbearable pain of Dolohov's curse she was just hit with is nothing compared to the agony in heart. She should've done more, if she were just a little quicker, a little stronger…_

 _A piece of her soul was broken._

 _Sirius black was dead and it was her fault._

~o~O~o~

Hermione shot up on her bed in the hospital wing with a gasp, "I'm sorry, Sirius," she screams, eyes still closed. "It's my fault I'm so sorry!"

She slowly peels her eyes open to see she is staring straight into the swirling grey eyes that had been the last thing she'd seen haunting her in her dream, well more of a nightmare really.

"How do you know my name?" the younger Sirius asks, not bothering with the whole 'I'm sorry it's my fault' thing as he looks on with narrowed eyes and one of his perfect brows quizzically cocked; that had always made her jealous, she could never raise just one.

What could she say here? She panicked, it wasn't as if she could tell them she was from the future, they'd think she was crazy and put her on a one way floo to the St. Mungo's psych ward quicker than you could Merlin's soddy toe fungus. She had to lie…

"I- I don't," she mumbles.

 _Yeah, stutter why don't you Hermione? Real convincing._ She fights an eye roll at her sardonic musings.

"Yes you do, now tell me how," Sirius demands in a raised voice that Hermione can't help but flinch from; Sirius had never raised his voice at her- at least not in the past, well future- but she feared it would be a repeat occurrence here if she couldn't avoid him. She had to lie, but how.

Hermione was overwhelmed, she couldn't fight the tears that sprang up in her eyes. Seeing him again was too much, too painful. It reminded her of all that she had lost, Harry and Ron are essentially dead to her now; she couldn't go back to a time that doesn't yet exist, she had to remain here and meet the end of her life as she knew it. She will never see all of those she knew before as she once had; and here they were, so many familiar faces reminding her of all she had lost with a few simple turns of a time-turner and a devious little rat.

The worst reminder of all was **him. Him** with his stormy eyes and chiseled jaw. **Him** with his long wavy hair and the infuriatingly perfect, sexy way he cocks a quizzical brow. **Him** with his gorgeous aristocratic features perfectly offset by his ruggedly handsome look and bad boy persona, complete with leather jacket, tattoos, a hint of stubble, and a flying motorbike. He was the worst because losing him the first time was damn near impossible and seeing him again it was happening all over again.

And both times it was **her** fault.

If only she'd done more at the department of mysteries. If only she'd been a little quicker with her curse on Bellatrix. If only she'd been a little stronger. After that day the grief had been unbearable, she had taken it upon herself to learn every defensive and offensive spell, curse and shield possible wandlessly and nonverbally so she could protect Harry no matter what. She would not fail again. She would not be too weak. She would not be too slow. She had to protect him, as much out of love for her honorary brother as out of deference for Sirius'- the man she was quite certain she loved and always would- memory. Harry was the last thing Sirius had left after spending years in Azkaban at the death of one of his best friends, an unfortunate circumstance that was a direct result of the betrayal of another said best friend- though unfortunate was putting it a bit too lightly. And being here meant she failed. Failed to never be to slow or too weak. Failed to protect Harry and thus… failed to honor Sirius with her great strength unbridled courage. That was unacceptable; that was unforgivable.

And here again if only. If only she was a little quicker, quicker to get them away from the snatchers. If only she was a little stronger, stronger to fight of the effects of the cruciatus curse; stronger to fight off that little rat, convince him that this was not the path to tread to redemption- _though he did seem to think there was none for him, redemption that is,_ Hermione mused. When it came down to it, the moment when it mattered most, she wasn't quick, wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, and now Harry was dead for her, Ron was dead for her, everyone she knew was dead for her… and she was dead too. Her life as she knew it was gone because she couldn't go back, or rather forward in terms of time, and she was stuck here with all the reminders of what she had lost.

Hermione laughed bitterly, _Pettigrew made the wrong choice. How can I save the whole world, end a war of the past, if I can't even protect myself, protect my friends? Sure I would gladly give my life to rid the world of Voldemort and I would gladly give it a million times over to spare Harry the pain of losing his parents, but clearly that's not enough when time and time again I've proven incapable of protecting my own. He thought 'brightest witch of her age perfect candidate to recreate time and stop the most powerful darkness of all.' Fool I'm no bright witch and it's not like I can go back and tell him that, there's no going to a timeline that doesn't exist and sending anyone back this far destroys the timeline._

Time is a fickle friend. A fact that first allowed Harry and herself to save Sirius in their third year.they went back to the time Remus turned and rescued Buckbeak from execution- thank god for Dumbledore and memory charms so they're duel with a Ministry executioner was forgotten by said executioner; Hagrid of course remembered, he deserved to know that his 'little Beaky' ( _little my arse)_ was safe after all- they got there right as the ax began its downward swing, one well-placed levitating charm and Walden Macnair was knocked out by the blunt end of his own ax. Ah the irony of being taken down by one's own weapon, simply poetic too, being as he was completely evil. It was a bit like having Ron there with them, taking him down the same way he had beaten the troll in their first year, it was this that gave them courage to finish all the dangerous things they had to get done that night, having the third member of the 'Golden Trio' there in spirt. Those further dangerous things included rescuing Sirius from the dementors by the lake- with an impeccably cast patronus from Harry, and the awakening rennervate plus restorative chocolate from Hermione he was well again, or as well as could be when fresh out of 12 years in Azkaban- there were hugs, tears, and promises of staying as in touch as possible before the two fugitives were sent away to continue to evade the law for crimes uncommitted. The Ministry remained unaware of Sirius' presence at the castle that night, at least until Snape woke up with an interesting story to tell. It was just too bad they couldn't catch Pettigrew at the time and not be putting their chance at saving Sirius' life at risk.

"Slippery little rat," Hermione muttered.

"What was that?" Sirius asked shaking Hermione from her deprecatory musings.

"Oh, uh nothing," she stuttered in reply.

"Hmm… well that's funny because I just asked you how the fuck you know who I am?!" Sirius demanded scowling.

"Language," Hermione reprimanded in flippant instinct calling a potent memory to pass.

" _MUDBLOODS! STAIN ON MY NOBLE HOUSE! YOU DARE LET THEM ENTER! MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS, ROTTEN FILTH!" The portrait of Lady Walburga Black screamed in outrage._

" _SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU CRAZY OLD BINT!" Her sole living heir and most hated son Sirius Black yelled back, louder if possible._

 _Hermione gasped in mock outrage, "Sirius Orion Black! Language!" she scolded with a façade of incensement._

" _Sorry pup, just can't help it she truly is what my initials suggest," Sirius acquiesced with an adorable lopsided smile, one may call it a 'panty dropping smile.'_

 _Hermione thinks about it for a second_ _ **S.O.B.? S.O.B… Son of a…**_

 _She slaps his arm in realization, "Oh Sirius," she chastens._

" _What? It cannot be denied, the women's a right bitch." He shrugs._

 _Hermione giggles, "Be that as it may, and be that as it makes you a son of one by proxy, you hardly live up to the ramifications and traits such a name means to insult, you are nothing like your mother; you're a wonderful man."_

" _Thank you," he smiles genuinely at her. "Oh, but I assure you pup, beyond being the literal son of one I can act quite like what the name implies. Enough have certainly called me by it, mostly the lucky ladies I couldn't be bothered to escort out of my bed chambers back in the day; they don't take to pointing to the door or shooing waves to well." He acknowledged with a smirk._

 _Hermione gasps and slaps his arm again, "Sirius!"_

" _That's my name kitten, a real S.O.B," he laughs and she rolls her eyes._

" _You know you really shouldn't curse so often Sirius," Hermione admonished once he calmed._

" _Oh, you're right pup, I'm sorry. It endangers your poor, innocent, virgin ears." He joked with an eye roll of his own._

" _Hey!" she protests. "Who said anything about virgin ears? I merely reserve my use of such expletives for things such as death eater scum and my innermost fearful, angry thoughts; makes it all the more scathing when I finally do put them to use." She cavalierly winks._

" _Oh, but Kitten I must keep cursing often! Around you at least, you're quite cute when you're all flustered like you were," Sirius declares._

 _Hermione slaps his arm again then drops her hand as a confused expression passes her countenance, "I don't get that."_

" _Get, what? That you're cute?" Sirius queried. "Because I assure you my dear you are. Quite so actually. I've decided to send Harry to school this year with a few more tricks up his robes, gotta beat away all those single minded boys with a stick; trust me I know I was the worst of those single minded boys in my day and we ate birds like you up."_

 _Hermione scoffs with a blush, "no that is_ _ **not**_ _what I meant. I was merely wondering why you call me both kitten and pup. Seems a bit impossible to be both, they're contradictory, opposites after all."_

" _Oh it is impossible love, but you are the impossible. A miracle- as Molly so accurately stated- in all of our lives." He admits softly._

 _Hermione turns to face him and could've sworn she'd seen the same longing forlornness she felt swimming deep in his slate pools, that she could hear the same singing in his heart the she so often did in hers stirring up again with just this one look, just this one touch as he brushed a curl behind her ear erecting shivers with his close proximity. He looks at her with eyes that say exactly what she feels 'I want you but I can never have you;' for alas it isn't their time, they stand separated by to many years, to many losses and circumstances of war. He was a shell of a man and he refused to snuff her lightness, she was the spirit of joy in their group, a brightness untainted by the darkness around her. And she was too much at risk, she couldn't get to close and have him lose someone else he loved when she almost inevitably died at the behest of Voldemort; he had suffered too much._

"Excuse me?!" the younger currently present Sirius Black demanded indignation.

Hermione is again shaken from her reverie and looks on in confusion, _what's got him all in a tizzy?_ She wondered _, oh right I admonished him for his language, he never did like people doing that, he never let anyone he would send them the same death glare he is giving me now. No, he never let anyone scold him so except for me, with me he would laugh and ruffle my hair and call me by one of his many ridiculous yet endearing pet names, but it's different now; here I'm nothing, I'm just like everyone else because this is not my Sirius._

"Habit," she apologizes nonchalantly, waving him off with a flick of her hand.

"Well miss bloody fucking habit, tell me how you know me because it's bloody off-putting for someone I've never seen before in my life to know who I am." He commands again.

Hermione couldn't help the harsh glare this evoked from her, "I will not be spoken to this way Sirius Orion Black!" she puts a hand over her mouth in shock after her outburst, _way to go Hermione break out all three names real conducive to your story of not knowing him._

"How do you know me?!" He screams in her face grabbing onto her upper arms almost tight enough to bruise and giving a light shake.

"I DON'T!" she yells back louder, shrugging out of his hold.

"Obviously you do or you wouldn't know my fucking _full_ name, so quit being a bitch and just tell me!" He demands once more.

It's at this point that the tears come, she can no longer stop them. Hearing Sirius Black call her a bitch were the limits to what her now fragile heart could take. He had never before raised his voice at Hermione let alone called her such a deplorable name, all this served to confirm what she already knew, her Sirius Black was gone; the man she loved, the man she watched die, was just as dead to her as he was the second he feel through the veil- despite looking so healthy, so young, vibrant, and whole. She could see none of the warmth for her in his slate grey eyes, hear none of it in his tone, he was gone and listening to that word fall from his perfect lips proved that she had lost him two times over; because here, seeing him again, hearing him again she knew she would always love him and this man was not him to this man she was a bitch she was nothing.

And he was right, she was nothing; she had nothing. She was an empty shell with no one left in the world to love her, to care for her, no one left in the world that she could call a friend. Her world, as filled with darkness as it was, was home to her, she had her friends there, a second family in the Weasleys and Harry. Though many of those people were still alive now, Arthur and Molly, Remus, even those she had already lost back then were here, like Albus, like… Sirius. But these people weren't them, they might as well be dead and gone because they weren't the people she knew; who knew her, who loved her. She was stuck in a time where everyone she loved either did not exist or neither knew nor cared that **she** did; she was cursed to eternally love a dead man, cursed to eternally miss a family and friends that were no longer hers and it was all she could do but to cry in despair at the agony of it all. Cry at the injustice. Writhe on the floor of her black abyss of unadulterated, pure, grief filled pain.

~o~O~o~

"Shit man, you made her cry," Fabien scolded as Gideon directed a deep scowl at Sirius' shocked face.

This girl was utterly despondent, sure maybe he shouldn't have called her a bitch but never before had it evoked such a serious, no pun intended, response. It was like she wasn't even here, like it wasn't him saying those awful things to her but someone else, someone who- hearing that from- destroyed her. He felt a little twinge of inexplicable anger for whoever that was and a downpour of guilt having caused this reaction.

He was not usually one to degrade a women so; he was a charmer, cool and collected until it came time for a fight. But there was something about her and it didn't sit right with him. She made him feel things, made his skin tingle with the simple brushing of his against skin hers, made his heart beat with the anticipation of a lovesick schoolboy with the simple sound of his whispered name on her perfect, pink, pouty lips –a name she wasn't supposed to fucking know- and no one made him feel like that, even when he **was** a lovesick schoolboy. It was strange and it felt so right but he renounced that feeling because that simply was not who he was, he didn't harbor feelings, he didn't stick around, he merely played bangers and dash with his women and no strange, curly haired brunette was going to change that, no matter how beautiful.

Plus how could it be right anyway? She knew his name. How the fuck did she know his name? He was certain he had never met her before because, not to sound cheesy or cliché or anything, but he would've remembered that face; those whiskey eyes were simply unforgettable, they made him want to drink of her, to swim in them and render himself lost happily in their watery depths forever. So that alone made him certain they were not acquainted. That meant she was not right, he had never seen her before yet her eyes gave the omniscient appearance of knowing all his darkest of secrets, of knowing the worlds darkest secrets. It sent shivers down his spine and it was wrong, just plain wrong.

He couldn't help but lose his temper when she looked at him like that, with such sorrow and regret, couldn't resist an outburst when she so blatantly lied to him. Didn't know him his fine arse. Maybe he was a little to direct and abrupt in his questioning, but with all these lies and strangely evoked feelings he was certain he hated her for the mess she made him; so his looked of shocked regret faded and he was soon glaring mercilessly at the prone, shaking body of the tiny, sobbing women.

"Shh, it's okay tiny angel," the twins cooed together as they took her trembling little body in their arms.

He turned his glare on the stocky twins, "she's no angel," he muttered under his breath.

They continued to sooth her as Sirius looked on in distaste as her sobs subsided and a hush fell over the room, her silent drops continued to cascade in a glistening stream down her face. Why did Sirius feel the almost overwhelming need to brush those sparking tears away? Why did he find her crying form so beautiful? He fucking hated this. He fucking hated her, only he didn't really which made him hate her all the more; that is if it was possible to hate something you can't seem to hate, Merlin it was bloody confusing!

"Miss," the soft voice of the headmaster broke the eerie silence, finally deciding to intervene and prevent Sirius' instigation of another screaming match, "can you tell us something about yourself? Anything about you so we might get you home to your family?"

"I have no family they're all dead and gone, along with all of my friends. My home is gone. My life is gone. The future's gone. I'm gone." She stared at him blankly as she answered in a dead tone.

Sirius fights the urge to wince at her devastatingly austere answer and flinch from the feeling that he was the reason for her new seemingly unfeeling nature as she pulls on an intricate mask.

The twins gasped in disbelief at her bleak account of her reality.

"Miss, whatever do you mean when you say the future is gone?" Dumbledore queries with a lifted brow.

"I mean only that I have none," she answered flatly.

Gosh that's a bit of a depressing way to think, what happened to her? _No,_ he reminded himself in a harsh, resolute manner, _she's strange and off putting and you hate her; you don't care._

"Okay, I'm sorry that that is how you feel miss." Dumbledore relents. "But can you at least give us a name, something to call you by."

"Hermione Granger," she answered in monotone.

"Granger, Muggle-born I take it?"

"Clearly," she says emotionlessly, calmly even, as she rolled up the sleeve of her hospital gown to display the crudely cut slur carved into her arm, it was clearly a recent wound. "Or did you not see?"

She gave no reaction, no pause to the sharp intakes of breath around the room, just pulled herself out of the twins' arms and sat there cross-legged and expressionless.

"Who did this to you?" They demanded.

Sirius couldn't say anything he just stood there gap mouthed and fury filled, fury at whoever did this to her and fury at himself for caring about the girl he was so trying to convince himself he hates; hates because she makes him feel, feel the kind of things he has forbidden himself from feeling, he did not feel this kind of love, it was avoidable and he was a danger to those he loved, he loved enough already, endangered enough already- Lily, James, his Potter parents, Remus, Peter, even his traitor brother Regulus. His hatred was better for her really, but it just wasn't there. Though he could fake it, he could pretend because he really, really wanted to hate this little witch who knew him and was lying about it, it incensed him, she incensed him; and yet he found it impossible to be loath of her.

"I don't remember," she answered in a whisper, the monotony gone from her voice as she lets another of the silent tears that had yet to stop pouring fall anew.

"You're lying," Sirius states boldly.

"I assure you I am not," she murmurs.

"You are," he argues voice rising again in his growing impatience, a signal of his impending rage. "And you know who I am. How?"

"I assure you I don't, know who you are that is," she answers in that eerily calm voice she'd adopted.

"Yes, you do," he said through gritted teeth. "You said my name before anyone gave any form of introduction, you can't deny that you somehow know me or at least know of me."

"I would assume you would know more of our relationship then I Black, I have amnesia. I may have known you but as I said all I know are dead, and you appear to be living; so I may have known you then but as you are still breathing I do not know you now," she explains robotically.

"That makes no sense!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Doesn't it?" she volleys in her same emotionless tone with her head cocked to the side.

"NO IT DOESN'T! HOW DO YOU KNOW ME?! WHO DID THIS TO YOU? I HAVE TO KNOW, I **NEED** TO KNOW!"

"I have amnesia," she states as though that answers everything.

"No you don't, you can't," Sirius denies her claims.

"Oh, I assure you I can and I do, amnesia is a common side effect of repeated bouts of the cruciatus curse." She explains matter-of-factly, much to the wincing of the men around her- well aside from Albus Dumbledore, he remained as stoic as ever, only a slight diming in his ever twinkling eyes served as a sign of his displeasure. "That and insanity. I'm unsure which is worse though, knowing you're gone and that there's nothing you can do or not having the presence of mind to care." She continues with the same simple tone of one commenting on the weather, her voice so eerily calm it sent an unwelcome shiver down Sirius' spine.

It seemed a façade, a defense mechanism against the influx of her complex, pain filled emotions to him, but he could see them in her eyes.

"Who did this to you?" He asked all signs of anger gone from his voice.

"I have amnesia," She whispered, her voice cracking and betraying her emotionless mask.

"I don't believe you," He informs vehemently, though in a gentle voice.

She makes no reply aside from a soft, sad smile as she lies on her side, curling into the fetal position. In fact she makes no reply to anything for days, simply remained curled in her ball staring blankly at the wall; seemingly unhearing of any of the men's questions, and unreceptive of any of Madame Pomphrey's instructions. The only times she moved or made a sound were when she was deep in the throes of sleep, here she screamed, here she yelled. 'It's a fake, the swords a fake.' 'Please no! Don't touch me, stop! Get your tongue off of me!' That one in particular ignited a livid fury within Sirius, he prayed to Merlin that whoever touched her in such a way never got the chance again, Madame Pomphrey said there were no signs of rape, she seemed to be spared from that particular indignity, but those words certainly implied it's been attempted and it was worrisome that whoever tried could still be out there. Waiting, biding their time to hurt her again. He would rip them limb from limb for even thinking of it in the first place. Not because it was her, she had nothing to do with it - or at least that's what he tells himself – but because Sirius simply despised weakling little cowards that asserted their power over women in such a way and he couldn't let them do it again to someone else; the dark side had a propensity towards such violent lascivious actions and he considered to possibly be the worst crime amongst them. Though one of her outburst would have almost made him laugh were she not writhing around in such agony when she said it, 'oh go on now and scurry out with your tail between your legs, you are nothing but a weak, rabid rat.'

Yes she had some interesting, if not disheartening, things to say in her slumber, Hermione Granger was an enigma; one Sirius was desperate to figure out if only to understand why she plagued his mind so. Yes he would figure her out. He would figure her out so he could convince his pesky, protesting heart to fully succumb to his mind's desperate desire to hate her pretty, duplicitous face.

 **AN:** So that's it guys, I'm kind of unsure about it, it's the longest chapter I've written yet for this story yet. Did you like the dream sequence? Did you like Sirius' bangers and mash reference when he used bangers and dash as a description of his relationship with women? Please let me know. And oh yeah Hermione doesn't really have amnesia if you couldn't tell by the whole "I don't believe you" and sad smile thing. It's just a lie to protect the others and keep her from reveling her true identity because right now she's too distraught to try and change anything and old Voldy would stop at nothing to get her invaluable knowledge of the future. Thanks for all the support so far seeing all the reviews, favorites and follows truly makes my day, I don't need the recognition but it is much appreciated so pretty please don't take it away.

Love,

~3lw


	4. Chapter 3: Stage 3: Anger

**Disclaimer: Me owns nothing; neither picture nor characters.**

 **Fancast for young Sirius: Ben Barnes (unoriginal I know but he's downright sexy)**

 **AN: I am soooo sorry for the super long wait please don't hate me I'm tried but there were so many other plot bunnies calling it was hard to focus on just one. I did edit the last few paragraphs of the last chapter slightly just so you know, it's nothing really important though so don't worry about rereading. =)**

 **Warning: I have no beta and me not really proofread.**

Chapter 3: Stage 3: Anger

To say Sirius black was shocked when Hermione Granger spoke for the first time in over a week would be a grave understatement, she'd been positively catatonic for days so when the question, "What day is it?", was rasped from her previously unused throat without preamble he promptly fell from his cushy chair in the hospital wing to the unforgiving stone floor.

"Uh, the twenty-first," He stuttered in answer.

As he struggled back into his chair he saw her roll her eyes at his response, "full…" she began to rasp before clearing her throat with a cough. She reaches over to sip the waiting glass of water Madame Pomphrey had been replacing for her daily so she could continue more efficiently, "full date please," she requests in a much clearer voice.

"The twenty-first of June 1979." He answered still in a daze.

"Hmm, that explains why I'm still in the schools hospital wing," she muses as she taps a tiny slender finger against her cheek. "Well only a few months left until school is back in session, right?"

"Uh huh," Sirius murmured.

She swings her legs off the bed and takes a long gulp of water. As she places the glass on the bedside table with a clatter she continues, "Then let's work on getting me out of here, shall we? Wouldn't want to startle the incoming students with the inpatient amnesiac." She requests in a sunshiny voice, like she wasn't just lying there voiceless and motionless for days. This attitude totally betrays that fact and, Sirius wouldn't admit it, but he had worried for the girl.

"Um, yes, of course," he stuttered again. Curse this women for making the great, smooth-talking, suave Sirius Black stutter; what a menace.

"Well then we should go find Professor Dumbledore, hmm?" she asks smiling at him winningly.

Before he could say anything or close his gapping mouth Dumbledore bustles out of Madame Pomphrey's office, "call me Albus my dear," he twinkles at her. "Glad to see you up and about, you had us quite worried for a moment there dear."

"I apologize," she says with a slight frown and remorseful tone as she inclines her head in regret.

"Oh there's no need for that dear," the headmaster assured her, "You went through quite the ordeal."

"Thank you Professor," she sighed in relief.

"Albus dear," he reminds with his trademark twinkling smile.

"Albus," she agreed with a smile in return.

Sirius stands stock-still during this whole encounter, paralyzed by disbelief that a catatonic girl would just wake up and start talking like she was commenting on something as simplistic as flobber worm feedings. He shakes his head, much like the dog characteristic to his animgus form to clear it. "I'm sorry, that's it?"

The girl, Hermione turns to him "What's it?" she asks confused.

"You just lie here for days, saying nothing, doing nothing aside from screaming and writhing in your sleep and you think you can just wake up and say 'oh it's summer? How dandy, let me go fetch my dear friend Dumbledore for a spot of tea and we can discuss my current living arrangements before school let's back in. Oh and wouldn't it be ever so pleasant if we could be pals and I could call you Albus? Let me just pop on over to your office and we can talk all about it. Wouldn't that just be a delight sir?'" He mocks in a mimicry of a feminine voice.

Hermione had the **nerve,** the pure gall, to roll her eyes at **him** _,_ Sirius Black, no one did that, he was highly loveable dammit! _She's absolutely bonkers,_ he thought. "Firstly neither I, nor any women ever speaks like that- well unless they too are trying seeking to make a mockery of one's femininity of course. Secondly I did not mention anything about having a 'spot of tea' and I certainly did not say ' **dandy** '. Thirdly it was the headmaster that request I call him Albus, and I've never met him before so I would hardly call us ' **Pals.** '" At this point she turns to Dumbledore with a smile, "though I do hope we can grow closer and perhaps one day be friend's sir, I do seem to be at quite a loss for them at the moment."

The ever twinkling headmaster beamed, actually beamed, at this which was clearly scheming from the manipulative little bint. She was clearly going to try to get information from the wizened, old coot with this so called 'friendship.'

"I don't think you're getting the point pet," Sirius pointed out.

"Oh yeah? And what's the point?" Hermione queried, her tone betraying her clear and present annoyance as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, fixing him with a squinted glare.

"The point is you can't go from coma to cavalier!" he exclaimed, voice rising in his mutual annoyance at her. "You can't act as if you haven't just awoken from the state of complete catatonia you'd succumbed to."

"You can't **hardly** say I was in a **coma!"** she argues.

"You might as well have been the way you were checked out of there," he says waving his hand in front of her face "Elvis has left the building. _Hasta manyata_! Wait more like, _te veo la proxima semana_. Hello, anyone home? Nope took a trip to crazy town try again latter."

If he was expected a response to that, a dazed whisper of - "I didn't know you spoke Spanish. Why didn't I know you spoke Spanish?" – as her eyes stared off at something that wasn't there, looking to space for answers, **was not it.**

"I **speak** Spanish _princessa_ , present tense," Sirius emphasized.

"Yes of course," she numbly replies while shaking her head, as if that would clear her blatantly obvious stupor.

Then Sirius seems to realize something and his face contorts into grimacing anger, directed at the tortured little witch in front of him yet again –literally tortured, both mentally and physically. "And how would you know if I spoke Spanish anyway? You don't know me, right? That's what you've claimed. But that's a lie, isn't it? Are you admitting what we all already know? Are you admitting that you're a liar?"

"I'm not lying! I wouldn't know if I knew you anyway because I have amnesia! I was tortured degraded, marred," she lists holding up her defaced forearm, indicating it with a pointed finger. "And since all **that** wasn't enough, old Voldy and his gremlins decided to leave me with the ever pleasant gift of amnesia so that I can't remember **anything;** let alone an insignificant jerk like you, if current behavior is any indicator!"She acknowledges with a scathing scowl. "And even if I did remember you I can guarantee, YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO FUCKING KNOW HOW YOU BLOODY FUCKING PRICK!" she screamed taking a deep, calming breath after having given her anger that much need release. She needed an outlet and that outlet was a priggish young Sirius Black.

She continued in a much subdued, matter-of-fact tone, "I'm certain that, as with most things associated with you, such memories, should they exist, would be quite unpleasant."

"Oh ho, looks whose speaking in expletives **now**! Bit of a hypocrite aren't we Miss 'language,'" he mocks, reminding her of her previous unappreciated scolding of him. "And I'd like to make you a guarantee of my own; **nothing** with me is **ever** unpleasant!" He insists, winking in the glory of all the implied innuendos.

"Oh shut up dickweed, I never said I didn't curse." She claims, rolling her eyes at his unbecoming insinuations. "I simply reserve them for my deep, dark, scary women thoughts," she starts sarcastically before taking a frank turn. "Well that and scumbags. Scumbags like murderers, scumbags like rapists, scumbags like wife beaters, scumbags like Death Eaters – who are often times all those things in one-, and scum bags like **you**." she tacks the last bit on in a serious, more colorful rendition of a previous conversation they'd shared in the past, one she'd just days ago remembered fondly but now used to insult him. "You wanker," she adds because all that wasn't enough to release her admittedly erroneous fury; sure his prattish tendencies were infuriating, but that was definitely a bit much.

Sirius didn't miss a beat though, not that she was expecting him to. He places a hand over his heart as he bemoans, "Oh, how you wound me so. Compared to Death Eater sycophants and abusive scum, actually might hurt if any of it was remotely true," he nods in acknowledgement. "Is it wrong that I found the wanker bit the most insulting? I'll have you know I've never had to wank in my life, there have always been plenty of willing women capable of beating it off for the great Sirius Black."

Hermione made a scrunched up face of disgust that Sirius would've found adorable if she wasn't so fucking annoying, _oh stop kidding yourself Black, it's cute anyway._ "I can't, you're just repulsive. Ugh and talking in the third person, gross," she gives up swiveling away from him to face the headmaster who's looking on with an amused smile and a telltale twinkle in his light azure eyes.

"Sir can we find me a place to live so I can get away from this, this… **thing,** as soon as possible." She request sending a glare Sirius' way that has him pantomiming shooting his chest, and clutching his heart as he acts out an agonizing death on the cold, hard castle ground. Hermione rolls her eyes at the display before meeting the headmasters eyes once more, honey golden-browns pleading with pale cerulean for salvation.

If Sirius was bothered by having his brilliant -if he did say so himself- acting ignored, which he was, then they would both be thoroughly enraged by what the headmaster said next, which they definitely were. "I'm afraid I can't do that, you'll be living with Mister Black in an order safe house for the foreseeable future."

Hermione fainted, again, at the news and Sirius told himself he was getting tired of catching her; though, if he was being completely honest with himself, he would know that he'd never tire of the feel of her in his arms, no matter the way it came about.

~o~O~o~

Life after Hermione came to was a blur. Streams of color that could only be moving people in her fast-forwarding brain, flurries of indecipherable sound that she didn't even care to distinguish the source of but expected to be the voices of the blurry stream people moving about her, and the telltale pop of apperation that marked her arrival to her impending doom. Up until getting to to her new 'home', she was too preoccupied with her dread to compute anything prior to arriving at the source of it.

That source being the one order safe house, of all the order safe houses, that was soon to be the mutual dwelling of one brash version of a young Sirius Black and her poor, unfortunate soul. Though in all fairness Sirius had always been a cocky little blitter. She used to love it, got a real kick out of it, now the malicious intent of it made her want nothing more than to put his head through a wall; magical methods be dammed.

If she wasn't so focused on her discontentment she would've notice how gorgeous her new sprawling manor home was, but as it was she was too focused on the fact that she wasn't sure what was going to be worse; the fact that the star cast member of 'When Prigs Walk Amongst Us' was going to be there living with her, or that she was going to have to meet Lily and James Potter- though she was fairly certain she was still an Evans at this point- and see her long-lost best friends in her eyes and his messy, unkempt locks. Being reminded in their resembling visage that she wasn't strong enough to save him, to save Harry.

That had been her only job, to stay with him, protect him from the dangers in the warring world he was predestined to save, and she had failed. Who's to say that even if she hadn't been sent back in time she would have succeeded anyway? She may have delayed the inevitable with that stinging spell, puff faced Chosen One disguise, but the likelihood of them escaping that manor was about a billion to one in the negative direction. The swelling would have subsided, Harry's identity would have been discovered, the Dark Lord would have been summoned… and they all would have died. She'd already failed and she couldn't blame Pettigrew and his stupid time-turner for that; she'd be dammed if she wasn't going to try to though.

Thus, failing to complete her one self-assigned mission in life, she could be certain she wouldn't ever be strong enough to finish that of a rat rendered deranged with self-loathing – though she could relate to the self-loathing bit, she was feeling a good deal of that at the moment.

She would never be able to save the hailed heroes of the wizarding world. She would never be able to save her best friend's beloved parents, the sacrificial lambs used to bring about the means to the end of Tom Marvolo Riddle; the lost and darkened soul who became the soulless, the man who became a monster, the man who became Voldemort.

And here they were. Lily, with her red-headed, fiery beauty and eyes of emerald; the red and green only serving to remind of Christmas, Gryffindor, and Harry. James in his messy haired, eyeglass wearing blindness that so matched his son's physique.

"Hello," her chimerical voice exclaimed as the warmness of her greeting shinned brightly in her eyes, in Harry's eyes. "I'm Lily Evans-"

"Soon to be Potter," the messy haired Harry lookalike interceded with a wink.

"Yes, soon to be Potter; though I see a significant change in that future if you don't learn to shut your fat trap James Charlus Potter!" The witch declared in exasperation. "Such a dick head," Lily whisper talked conspiratorially to Hermione for all to hear.

She couldn't help but laugh, care free in just that one moment as she enjoyed the dynamics of their relationship. Lily was quite the spitfire; it reminded her of yet another feisty redhead that their future son had taken an interest in. She felt a pang as she realized that that little triste was no longer happening, and might very well never occur due to her mere existence in the past, but fought it to give Lily a scheming smirk of her own. "I can see as much, must be something in the water here; Black is an absolute nightmare. Though it only seems to effect males as you're an absolute delight," she smiles radiantly at the other witch in a show of her sincerity. "We must attempt to work out a cure for this unfortunate ailment."

"Alas there is no cure to such afflictions; a sod is forever a sod," Lily laments.

"Lily!" James protests, "You're poisoning our lovely young guest against us! However could you claim to love me my dearest Lily flower?"

Lily opened her mouth to retort as a tall sandy blonde descends the stairs, With height to rival that of Sirius and broad muscles young Remus was quite the looker; he had a bit of an innocence in his smiling eyes that did not match what served to be an intimidating figure. "Oh, Lily has no need to poison the well against you Prongsie. You and Padfoot do fine job of it all on your own with your dickish, sod-like tendencies," he declares as he progresses downward. "Remus by the way," he grins in introduction.

"Says the king of the dickish sods," Sirius scoffs speaking up for the first time in defense of his honor.

"Actual Lily I take it back; it can't be a water impurity that instils the priggishness in Sirius and James because Remus seems to be a gem."

"Oh, don't get Lily started on our dear Moony; she thinks he hung the moon we named him for." James beseeches as Sirius starts his protestations.

"Oi, I'm the gem here, a real diamond," Sirius declares.

"In the rough maybe," Hermione snorts.

"Ooo, I like this one," Remus declares. "She doesn't fall for Sirius looks like the other blind broads he goes for, personally I don't see the appeal; so many inadequacies and that scornful lack of charm."

"Oh, how you wound me! Humph and Lily thinks you're the sweet one; talk about not seeing the appeal," Sirius complains.

"Shut-up Sirius," Remus waves him off as he turns his muddy green eyes on Hermione. "And what's your name oh insightful one."

She fights an ensuing blush as she answers happily, "Gosh, I'm sorry, how rude of me! I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"Like in The Winter's Tale?" Remus guessed curiously.

"Yup, named for Shakespeare's Hermione, Queen of Sicily," Hermione affirmed.

"Oh, well you certainly possess a certain royal beauty," James declares with a coquettish wink causing Hermione to let out an undignified snort as Lily goes to slap his arm in a feint of shocked jealousy. "You know you're my one and only Lily pad," James assures despite the falsehood of her act.

"Unfortunately, I'm well aware of that," a mournful sigh passing her lips in mockery.

"You know you love me," he declares placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek, eliciting giggles from Hermione and earning her another wink.

"Regrettably, I do," Lily concedes.

"She still wants me," James claims wriggling his eyebrows at the still giggling Hermione.

"I see that," Hermione acknowledges between peals of laughter. "You guys are the cutest."

"My gratitude to you fair lady," James pompously thanks with a flourishing bow.

"It's my pleasure to satisfy you good sir," Hermione curtsies in reply.

"Oh would you just stop with the bull-shite! The only fair thing about her," Sirius declares as he levels a sneer at Hermione, "is that she's fairly annoying, and the only thing royal is that she's royal pain in my gorgeous arse."

"Sirius, mate, what the hell has gotten into you?!" Remus starts to defend as Lilly threatens in a show of feminine solidarity.

"Black, you watch your fucking mouth before I heck off your precious bollocks and stuff them so far down your throat that-" but no one got to hear what Lily's intimate introduction of bullocks to throat would cause as Hermione had risen to her own offence.

"I'm sorry 'gorgeous arse?'" she looks appraisingly at the nether appendage in question and shrugs, "a bit full of ourselves, aren't we? It seems a bit flat to me." That was a blatant lie of course but he was a prat so…

"Full of myself aren't I? Aren't you a little Hypocrite, walking in here all high and mighty calling James and I sods like you own the place," Sirius growled.

"Actually it was Remus and I that called you sods-" Lily began to speak again for womanly unity and Hermione's much deserved defense from this totally **undeserved** attack until Hermione interrupted.

"Yeah, Lily's right, I called you a nightmare." Hermione reminded smiling sweetly.

"You," Sirius gaped incredulously, "I can't believe you! Acting all sweet and innocent, trying to play nice and make friends, but you're lying to us all! If you're amnesic then Moony is a fluffy white cat!"

Hermione bats her eyelashes innocently, "Remus is an animagus? I must say fluffy white cat was not my expected form for him."

"Why because you were expecting something a little more **wolfish**?" Sirius demands in suspicious emphasis, seeming not to notice or, possibly, care about Lily's indignant gasp nor Remus' hurt and paling face; he was too preoccupied with putting a little witch in her place, or rather spaying a kitten, to pay attention to other non-fluffy denominators .

"Why ever would I expect him to be wolfish," Hermione tilts her head to the side imploringly as she plays dumb.

"Because you're. Not. Amnesic!"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hermione asks, confused façade never faltering. "I was thinking more along ursus species line, seems the cuddly teddy bear type. Maybe something avian? He has wise eyes like an owl. You on the other hand I would expect some ghastly bovine incantation or possibly a canis transformation. Though not one of the cute species from the canis tract, no, either a hulking, mangy menace of a mongrel dog or a yippy little pooch that you end up sending to grandmas farm as a preventative measure to blowing it's, and your own, brains out due to the agony it's high pitch yowling procures. Must say I'm leaning towards the second of the two; undeniably you'd be an excellent Chihuahua, you've got the yippiness down pat with all your pathetic whining."

"Gosh you're a bitch! And even though you sound like an **encyclopedia** , you disregard proper syntax with your unimpressive imagination. I mean come on, **yippiness?** You can think of things like canis and bovine on the spot but you can't think up one of the many synonyms to replace **yippiness**? That isn't even a word by the way, which explains my whole proper syntax argument, though I'm sure knew that; right Mrs. World Book?" Sirius mocks with a condescending sneer.

"I'm sorry I can't be a bitch," Hermione demurred, cocking her head again in innocence. "You see a bitch is a female dog and, seeing as we're nothing alike and we've just confirmed your doggishness, I can't be anything related to you."

"Oh, you're right I'm sorry **kitten,** " Sirius said in mocking appeasement.

That was it. Sirius Black was a dead man. And he'd have no crystalline idea as to why **that line,** was the straw that broke the camel's back. Hermione's Sirius, the man she'd only realized she'd loved after she'd learned she would never get the chance to acknowledge it, had called her by many pet names multiple times and never once had she heard him put so much malice behind them. She'd never heard so much hatred in his voice, and directed at her no less through one of his goofy little pseudonyms; this name in particular proved to be the worst. And here past Sirius was, sitting halfcocked and belligerent, hurling bullets into her heart as she tried and failed to reconcile this hostile tosser with the love of her life. Knowing for a fact that they were the same person despite all the differences in his attitude towards her made it all the harder, she had thought he had loved her to… so much so that it would of transcended time, but reality awakened her to the truth; he didn't love her, at least not as she had him, and he probably never would. He had tarnished her image of his perfect future self and that's what made the bitter pang of the painful sting all the more sharp. That's what made his fatal slur unforgivable.

She felt hot tears pricking in her eyes again as she marched up to him, defiantly slamming her palm into his face with a resounding slap. "Don't you ever call me that again, you… you incurable toerag!"She screamed at him before turning firmly on her heel to march away, oblivious to the mutterings going on behind her.

Peter Pettigrew was a good man. He wanted three very simple thing from life; a happy mother, happy friends, and the peaceful bliss of safety. He was 2 for 3 at the time, there was the whole war against darkness going on that impeded on the third of course but other than that life was good… Up until a curly haired hurricane of well-meaning wishes turned dangerous maladies came along and screwed it all up for him- and kudos to her for that, it takes some serious effort to destress his mother; though in all fairness it was more him that did the actual upsetting, but upon her instruction so she was therefore guilty by proxy.

Though all that was a story for another time, so more on all that later. What you really need to know was that Peter Pettigrew was an unassuming, simple souled man when hurricane Hermione struck, she made an impact on them all, for better or worse is yet to be foretold but one thing is for sure she makes quite the first impression.

Sauntering down the steps that fateful June afternoon Peter did not expect to see Sirius the Casanova Black being ripped a new arse whole by a tiny honey skinned firecracker. Sure Sirius had the tendency to bring out ones… sassy side, to put it nicely, but this was something else. The smooth talking, smug faced fucker was actually fighting back with a beautiful woman instead of trying to talk her out of her knicker and smirk her into heartbreak. What had the world come to? This was all real bloody surprising of the man who enjoys thinking with his cock. Though Peter could definitely still see the appreciation for her carnal charms in Sirius' lusting eyes his upper brain was definitely taking charge of this conversation; even with that storm of desire brewing rougher than ever in those steely grey eyes. Which is something one does not wish the ability to realize in their best mate by the way, unfortunately you notice a few less then appealing things about people when sharing a room with them during seven of the most defining years of their life.

Despite all that Peter somehow doubted his chances for amazing, angry hate sex because this incredibly gorgeous women somehow managed to be out of even the great Lord Black of the Erotic Dine and Dash's League. Not that Peter particularly cared for her sexual inaccessibility, he had certain other leanings in that department, but he knew that his friend liked a challenge and it would certainly be an interesting one to watch unfold.

The otherwise engaged spitfire didn't even notice his approach as he walked over to stand beside Remus. The aggressors stood oblivious to their gape mouthed audience as the mystery women marched right up to Sirius with her shining, tear brimmed eyes to slap him square across the jaw, "Don't you ever call me that again, you incurable toerag!"

They all watched with bated breath as she marched on through streaming eyes out the back door and into the surrounding forest, ignorant to Sirius' dumbfounded expression and mutterings of, "What's so wrong with kitten?" before he too stomped off in the opposite direction.

"Who the bloody hell was that?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Mate, I think that there was Sirius' Lily," Remus answered simply.

"No shite," Peter agreed.

"How'd she come up with those insults?" Lily questioned in appreciation.

"How'd she get Sirius so mad?" Remus pondered.

"How'd she get so short?" James contemplated seriously, much to Remus' snorting amusement and Lily's shoulder slapping indignation.

"I believe the most important question is, how _ever_ did she find the back door?" an approaching lady Pettigrew ventured when the telltale door slamming could be heard echoing through the house, as her son groaned and his companions dissolved into hysterics.

How Hermione managed to find her way outside through the twisting hall of that gigantic and unfamiliar manor while still in the haze of her surge of sudden blinding ire was beyond her, she speculated that her anger must have fresh air feelers as a compass. Yes she was aware of how juvenile the term 'fresh air feelers' sounded, but rage had the tendency to cloud the brain from one's more intelligent and mature thought processes so she wasn't going to take anyone's shite about it; besides it wasn't as if the world could actually here her ensuing internal monologue.

Anyway the fresh air was usually enough for her, a few deep breaths and she was well on her way to sunshineville again, but Sirius Black was just so infuriating! So that's how she found herself trudging through the woods to what would eventually be aptly, if not annoyingly, named her 'anger clearing' by an unlikely ally.

With a scream serving to have all terrified surrounding wildlife fleeing to Timbuctoo she unleashed her rage through a wandless explosion at a poor unsuspecting tree. "Stupid big mouthed mutt!"

Speaking of being wandless, where the fuck was her wand?! Yet another source of her boundless lividity, "Stupid time travel making my beautiful piece of wood disappear!" Yes she was aware of the double-entendre behind that exclamation but she couldn't bring herself to care as she was too busy focusing on the fact that, "Stupid Dumbledore, with his stupid twinkly eyes and his stupid crooked nose in everyone's business probably took it," with a booming jet of magic. "My poor gorgeous baby," she added as she cursed his being, "a manipulative old bastard!"

Then she realized the reservoir of all this furry, which was outsourcing her rage in little streams to all these otherwise acknowledged utterly exasperating grievances, was one irksome little man rat. The coward of Gryffindor himself, Peter fricking Pettigrew. "Stupid arse, rat faced idiot! Asking me to be some bloody world saving assassin and making me your Merlin damned transdimensional arsenic! Ugh, taking away everything I know and l-love to put me somewhere I don't belong," She shouted as her magic lashed out with her angry wordless _Confringos_ , shaking the forest floor as tree after pitiable, innocent little tree was blasted to splinters.

Then her voice broke as she announced the most painful thing of all, more than just a mere all-consuming irritation but a loss so agonizing that all her wrath faded into an overwhelming depression, the loss of everything she had left in the world, the loss of her brothers. "Ron, Harry," Was all she managed to stutter out in an agonized whisper as gut wrenching sobs consumed her body and she fell in drained heap to the forest floor.

 **AN: Hope I made it worth the wait! This chapter is dedicated to GhostWriter1864 who was looking forward to an angry Hermione and all my other wonderful and encouraging readers, I love you guys! =)**

 **~3lw**


	5. Chapter 4: Stage 4: Bargaining

**Disclaimer: I owns nofink**

 **AN: Sorry for the wait… this will be a mainly Siri-centric chapter, and no I don't mean the creepy apple robot Siri so if you thought that leave. Now. Lol I'm just kidding love ya all.**

 **Warning: Me no proof readed**

Chapter 4: Stage 4: Bargaining

Fucking Kitten.

Yup, a Kitten had definitely thrown debauched Lothario Sirius Black into a miserable state of grieving. Grieving for how his wonderful life had been before a certain honey toned Hurricane came along to ruin **everything.** Oh, what he wouldn't give to go back eight bloody days to avoid ever meeting that fucking curly haired demon, with her forearm scars and trauma induced, comatose delirium. Bloody amnesia his left nut. If that girl was amnesic he was as celibate as fucking Mother Teresa.

Kitten.

Fucking kitten.

What the hell is wrong with calling the bint Kitten?! Kittens are cute! And cuddly! Who the fuck gets slapped in the face for calling someone cute and cuddly?! Sure that wasn't what he meant it as at the time, but still! A fucking bitch slap was **not** warranted.

That's just that patented Sirius Black rotten luck for you, bitch slaps from cuddly little kittens.

And what was worse… he felt like shite. As soon as he saw those diamond like teardrops fill her warm though, at the time, hard eyes he felt like the devil incarnate for having put them there. He wasn't sure why this was, probably some misguided instinct of his subconscious to protect all of his order charges, but he felt connected to the girl.

It could also be due to a misguided instinct of his dick.

Hermione was admittedly a hot bint, hot bints awaken primal urges in a man; not so little Sirius simply cannot resist the allure of a beautiful women, and that witch had the three T's, toosh, tits, and tongue. And by tongue he didn't mean simply that she had one, everyone had a tongue unless they were, by some accident -magical or otherwise- an avox, no he meant that she knew how to use it. Use it to hurl flustered insults at him as they had an impassioned spat he means; there was simply nothing sexier than a rattled woman. Or a rattled kitten.

Yeah it was probably the bloody second reason.

Founders he needed a good fuck.

Anything to get him to forget about the seemingly clairvoyant 'amnesiac', Merlin what an oxymoron.

Sirius lets out a frustrated growl as he begins to stalk through the woods towards the motor bike that lay in his hidden garage amongst the flora and fauna. It was settled. He was going to a muggle pub and that was that. The muggles were all recklessly jubilant in the chaos that was surrounding them and their blind paradise was ideal for him in the darkness of the moment. Oh, what he wouldn't give for one more moment of ignorant bliss, and one less pretty witch that denies knowing something she clearly shouldn't, but also, clearly does.

He'd need the fuck of a lifetime to get all **that** out of his mind.

Alas, thus far, not even his best sexual partner - a random muggle punk rocker type chick that had been real wild in the sack, definitely superb (though he still didn't bother to remember her name) and definitely more of a sexual deviant then partner – had been able to make him forget the worries of the war even for a second, so he didn't have to high of hopes for tonight. Especially with a new whiskey eyed worry tacked in to the mix. Fuck she even ruined whiskey for him, guess he was drinking beer tonight. Godric it was going to take him forever to get properly sloshed on that muggle shite, and if there was one thing Sirius Black needed right now, it was a good sloshing.

Sirius waved his wand, bringing to life the multitude of florescent lights in his gigantic muggle garage. He'd always had a budding affection for the more stylish of muggle sports cars, particularly those in a sleek Gryffindor red, but his true love was his hulking black motor bike which he had affectionately dubbed Ruthanne.

He tenderly pats the side of his pride and joy as the blaring engine roars to life. It had taken quite a bit of tinkering, magical and otherwise, to get his baby just right, and he had a top speed, high flying beauty to show for it. Sirius had an affinity for taking apart motor vehicles for reconstruction - as is clearly demonstrated by his grease riddled, messy tabled workspace, littered with shining parts and oily rags- and as a result has a plethora of vehicles that had men, both magical and muggle alike, begging with their tail between their legs. Trust him while spending large chunks of his time as the dog men were often compared to he knew such a stance quite well, the majority of the male populace were green with envy, and eager for a ride. Zooming out of the forest greenery, onto the delightfully winding back, country road beyond, Sirius Black temporarily forgot the nagging problems at the back of his mind; or rather the nagging brunette that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the back of his boob addled brain.

All focus was now on letting loose for a while, perhaps moreover on finding a women a little loose in her virtue. If his eye was drawn to the curvy, curled ones with smoldering eyes of whiskey he would neither realize nor assent to that fact.

~o~O~o~

Hermione lay motionless on the pine strewn forest floor, the brown needles providing a strange paradox of pointed comfort as she contemplates the bleakness of her future, or lack thereof.

She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way back.

No matter how she may beg to every imaginable deity, the sands of time had turned and there was no turning them back. The only thing she had left to beg for was her expedient death in hopes that she may, one day, be reunited with the loved ones of her past, or, more technically, future.

But she lacked the strength to bring closer even that, where was that patented Gryffindor courage when she needed it? She wanted to die damn it! Though the fear holding her back wasn't of death, of its possible blackness and trademark unknowns; nor was it of the emptiness she felt without her family or self-assigned mission of Harry protection and triumph over darkness. No her fear was of the thought inevitability of her failure. Failure in the mission she had already unknowingly taken on. A continuation of her already assigned mission of Harry protection and darkness conquering, but so much more. Harry would never have to face a life without his parents. Remus would never have to face the scrutiny and prejudice associated with his 'fury little problem.' James and Lily would get to see their son grow into one of the most wonderful human beings imaginable, her brother in spirt and heart. The Prewett twins, Dumbledore, Marlene McKinnon, and so many others would never face their untimely demises. Neville would live to be raised by sane parents who showered him with all the confidence inspiring love he deserved. Voldemort's reign of evil would be ended. And, most importantly to Hermione's clueless and fragile heart, Sirius would never face twelve unwarranted years in Azkaban prison.

Yes Hermione Granger's fear was of life, of a subconsciously conceived destiny that she thought herself doomed to fail at. That destiny was why she couldn't end her suffering like she so wanted. She had a job to do first that her heart was making her face up to weather she wanted to or not.

~o~O~o~

Sirius was drawn to the raunchiest of clubs in the heart of west London, thrumming bass poured from the seams of the rock and roll themed wonderland, and scantily clad women in leather miniskirts saucily milled about the place in sultry fancy. Sirius only needed a strong drink to complete the arousing, sexual ambiance and he needed that bloody drink now. In fact he needed that drink yesterday, maybe even eight days ago when hurricane Hermione touched down. But he was **not** thinking about her and the nausea inducing nuisance of her presence at the moment, so any niggling on the matter would kindly be shutting the fuck up right now.

Sirius strutted up to the bar with undeniable swagger; though if you asked him he would say he never struts, he merely exudes a magnetic charm that makes his steps grounded, striking, and sure. Hermione would say he was an arrogant berk that walks as his species of arrogant berks are known to do, cocksure and cavalier.

The regular barmaid greets him with a coquettish wink and slides his usual drinks down the bar at his smirking half wave reply. While he was one of her regular customers, it was important to note that she was also one of his, and they had a bit of a system down. She was known to give a somewhat decent hand job from beneath the bar and, when he was feeling generous, he is a giving man after all, he would crouch under the bar giving her a good licking in preparation for a rendezvous in the storage closet. He didn't make love, he took, fast and hard, and wanted her wet, ripe, and ready for the picking. But he wasn't feeling it today. She was an alright shag but her straight black hair seemed lank to him today, her dull green eyes were reminding him of a moss covered rock, beset with pungent mildew. He wanted wild and vivacious, rich chocolatey browns and sharp tongues that spar him, matching blow for blow. He wanted a hurricane and, Godric damn it, it had nothing to do with little miss 'amnesia.'

With a grudging sigh Sirius steps away from the bar, resigned to having to play the field a little. Not that it would be hard. This place was like the Hufflepuff second string school quidditch team and he was the captain of the bloody British National league on a world cup tour year. Easy as cauldron cakes.

Sirius brings down his eyes from where they had rolled disparagingly at the celling, now scoping the joint for his golden snitch. Yes he had been Gryffindor's star chaser, he and James were the 'dreamy duo', but the analogy simply worked better. He loved his quaffles, but something about the name did make them seem a bit frumpy when used as a comparison to women. Kind of like waffles, fluffy, homey and cute but definitely not sexy. Chocolate. Now **that** was a sexy food. And whiskey was a sexy drink, fierce and fiery. They reminded him of someone, you know who, but don't say who that who is because it'll cause a string of curses to fly from Sirius' mouth. Merlin, he'd just called her you know who. Fuck she was Voldemort to his black leather, rebel spirt brain and it was bloody pathetic. The only difference is, he wasn't afraid to say Mr. Megalomaniac's name. This… whatever he was feeling because of her, was so much worse than Voldemort; she was so much worse than Voldemort.

Nursing his drink, Sirius begins his appraisal of a rambunctious brunette across the tavern. His sly perusal certainly seemed to yield the desired results, for the brunette was certainly loud and lively, drawing eyes from throughout the crowded pub but the competition would be half the fun; not that it be much of a challenge though. Especially judging by the sultry looks she was sending his way. Oh well, he'd been challenged enough today by a certain someone, so the ease of this simple catch could not be considered unfortunate.

Deeming the hunt over, Sirius begins his attack, completely ambiguous in approach to his unsuspecting prey. Poor innocent women, she had no clue what she was getting into when she made herself his target. Feigning indifference, Sirius cocks a brow at her and turns away. This façade of aloofness gets every girl going, a bint wants you so much more if they think they can't have you; if they think you don't want them. Sirius says that his proven theory is what the muggles call, science. Hermione again would say that such simple minded conceit is evidentiary support to the unfortunate reality that he is, in fact, an arrogant berk. They'll never agree on anything it seems.

Waving his triste, Lydia the barmaid, down for a second whiskey- It seem his previous resolve against such a drink was nixed for the appeal of hard liquor-, he employs a second method of garnering womanly attention, leaning casually against the bar to give the server a slow flirtatious smile of thanks. The little brown haired firecracker in the corner huffs in annoyance. Jealousy. Works every time.

Again he inclines a confused brow her way, as if to say, _what's got your knickers in a twist?_

She thins her eyes in a glare before stalking in his direction. "Your buying me a drink," she commands in an exasperated puff of air.

"Am I now?" He questions wonderingly, canting his head in askance.

"You are if you want to take me home," she responds suggestively.

He really didn't, home was Order headquarters after all. Plus he could just imagine the lecture it would entice from Lily. 'You're such a man whore.' And, 'poor Marlene. Can't you tell she's in love with you?' Godric, the girl didn't even like McKinnon and he could still hear her high pitched beratement ringing on in his head.

"I must say, I am more partial to broom closets and bathroom stalls." He replies, voice filled with the husky, rich insinuation of sex; deepened by the ecstasy of it.

He sees her spine shiver with tingles as his lips brush her ear from where he'd leaned in to whisper his response. "If you want that you're buying me at least two pints," was her blunt reply.

~o~O~o~

Hermione hadn't moved.

She'd heard the telltale rumbling of some type of an engine about an hour ago, but remained still, an immovable stone on the floor of her wooded sanctuary.

She was cold. Or at least she thought she was. She really couldn't tell anymore. All feeling had left her body a while ago. The shivering that hadn't stopped since her body was plagued by the weakening throes of the cruciatus had subsided to a faint numbness. She'd been cold ever since the spell had lifted, a sign of her weakened immune system, and here in the British wilderness where the chill clung to the trees despite the summer sunlight, that frigidity was justified. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that the numbness was her body giving way, to hypothermia but she had lost the consciousness to care long ago.

She was relieved really. A condition of hypothermia was sleepiness. She would love to sleep. Oh what glorious side effects; a numbness to the pain, to her life, and the ability to dream it all away.

She also somehow noted that the summer sunlight was sapping away to night, taking with it her last vestiges of body heat; the moon hailing in a new era of darkness to her icy cold oblivion. In this new, failing light she could almost pretend these were familiar woods. That she was merely keeping watch of camp as Harry and Ron slumbered. That these were their woods and she was still safely with them, struggling, starving, and stranded, but safe and together.

Her eyes were drooping. But she was keeping watch, she couldn't fall asleep; especially with her new purpose that required her not to die, yet. Though sleep sounded so nice and the heaviness wouldn't leave her eyes. She was too smart not to realize that this was her body giving away to hypothermia, delusional ramblings, drowsiness and all, but she decided she didn't care as even the concept of pain completely left her body. Yes, she resolves as her lids finally drift shut, Hypothermia is nice.

~o~O~o~

Bar Babe was decidedly too blunt, Sirius mused as the wind fluttered through his hair in rapid streams during his expeditious ride back to headquarters. He had set out for the wild and witty. Bar Babe, as he had taken to calling her, having deigned it too trifling to remember her actual name, was only good for a one time shag - and barely even that- being as she was just plain wild.

And not the good kind of crazy wild that made you good in the sack. No, she was the conceited kind of slutty wild that made the sultry tones of her voice seem fake and entirely unappealing. He'd never found such blatant sexuality and barefaced innuendos unattractive before, quite the opposite in fact, but for some reason he was craving a come-on veiled in defiant wit and shrouded in cheeky acuity. Belligerent banter made for passionate bed mates. He'd never admit it, but the argument this afternoon with little miss hurricane made for a mad aphrodisiac and ragging hard-on. Well, up until the point where she started crying. He still didn't get that.

Fucking kitten.

His ruminating is interrupted as he notices the large boulder that marks the forest-side entrance to his wooded garage. Wizarding blood and foreknowledge shred away the enchantments of the magically cloaked entryway as he makes his way down the sylvan path. Masterfully parking his bike in a long, drifting turn into the garage, Sirius begins his trek back to the warm safety of the Pettigrew family home, the orders current headquarters and his sanctuary for the foreseeable future. Or at least as much of a sanctuary as it can be with such an unwanted yet immovable guest as the kitten who doesn't want to acknowledge it's fur; it was kind of like a leopard that tries to hide it's spots, but at least they know they're feline.

Even if he'd had the best shag in the world, which he hadn't, and was in the subsequent euphoric state of calm, which he wasn't, he couldn't have been prepared for the absolute mayhem he stumbled upon when he finally reached the manor. Everyone was bustling about and arguing about something that he couldn't identify in his condition of surprise, the only thing he did register was that not quite everyone was present for this argument like he'd initially thought, there was a distinct lack of anyone stormy, tropical or otherwise. Hurricane Hermione wasn't there, and she didn't seem the type to skip out willingly on anything important enough to argue about.

As he let this realization settle in, the distressed words started to filter into his brain, previously addled by shock.

"It's been hours," a clearly troubled Lily stressed, "we should all go out and search for her."

Those marauders present in the conversation and an obviously concerned Mrs. Pettigrew, if her drawn brows and strident frown were any indication, nodded in avid agreement as the distraught family house elf wrung its hands in worry, with its ears and head hung in sorrowful hysterics. Sirius found it hard to muster up any pity for the diminutive, little creature in the corner; what with his dreadful relationship with his family's own wretched beast of an elf- not that he could really call them his family any more now that he was disowned; and proud of it to. Though he did remember Peter saying that their elf, a female named Pippsy, was adorable, family in all the important senses of the word, and definitely the head of the household, one that didn't mind flaunting her authority either.

"The chit could be setting us all up for a trap, the circumstances around her arrival are suspicious at best and the idea of any of you believing her contrived back story, or rater lack thereof, is just blasphemous." A paranoid Mad-Eye Moody grunts. Wait, Moody? How had Sirius not noticed his presence before? Oh yeah, his brain hadn't strayed past the point of discerning the lack of frustrating, feline folly in the kitten less entrance hall. Fucking boobs were addling it again.

"She's amnesic, that explanation is neither contrived nor lacking," Mrs. Pettigrew argued.

Wait. Amnesia? There was only one masquerading amnesiac that he was aware of. Was Kitten missin'?

"Your right Diane," Moody assents sarcastically, "it's just plain fucking horseshit is all."

"Language," a disgruntled Pippsy scolds as the arguing continues.

"Well clearly she's been through a trauma she doesn't want to relive or discuss, the amnesia claim may be her way of dealing with it," Remus interjects logically.

"Plus you should've seen the way she told off Sirius early, never seen anything like. Anyone who can get Sirius going like that is alright in my book, it was just plain hot," James added as Lily slaps his shoulder with an affectionate eye roll and the other two marauders nod, chuckling in ready agreement.

One marauder, however, not enthused by this assertion of support as Sirius let's out a growl of disapproval from his frozen position by the still open door. Not that anyone noticed the sound over their own loudly disputing voices.

"Pff, I don't care, I still say we don't go after her. Constant vigilance is key." Mad-Eye differs.

That annoyingly repetitive philosophy from his paranoid ex auror training overseer is enough to rouse Sirius, and his outburst at coming to grips with the situation is enough to awaken the others to his presence as well after his near silent arrival when comparison to their quarrelsome debate; Moody would be pissed at his previous lack of perception, that hypocrite and all his constant vigilance malarkey. Not that Sirius didn't believe that being alert to danger was important, but something about the way Moody warned of this made him want to stand in front of a Death Eater and be Avada'd, if only so he'd never have to hear his grating voice warn of 'constant vigilance' again.

" **Fuck,** "Sirius exclaims in incensed recognition as he turns right back around and slams the door behind him, causing the others to jump in surprise. He doesn't care he had a kitten to fetch from whatever damned tree it decided to go climb like a fucking idiot. Why did cats always seem to forget that they can't jump back down? Stupid creatures; he was so glad his animagus was a dog.

Fucking kitten.

 **AN: Eww, long wait and a bit of a cliffy you guys are so gonna hate me… sorry. Also sorry it's a little short, this just felt like the right way to end this one Anyway the continuing outpour of support for this story has been amazing and inspirational, getting me to continue despite tough times of late. I have a big exam coming up soon and then should be able to update more frequently. Keep being amazing readers, I love you guys. This one goes to GeekMom13 and newbie to TDA Lizard1998, and really all of you of course, thanks for reading guys. =)**

 **~3lw**


	6. Chapter 5 Stage 5: Depression Part 1

**An:** I'm back! Not too sure about this first part so let me know how ya feel.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my originality and my desire to shag Sirius Black

 **Warning:** I still no proofread (though I do sometimes fix something I spot after posting should I feel the motivation lol)

Chapter 5: Stage 5: Depression Part 1

He hadn't gone to get her out of any sense of caring, Sirius kept telling himself, but rather because he had some inherent sense of duty to her; since Albus had put her in the same order safe house like some sort of convoluted charge this was understandable. This reasoning, however, did not explain the innate and insistent dread he felt upon locating her still form on the pine strewn forest floor; like her being of good health was intrinsic to his existence. Did not stop his pounding hearts adamant and unrelenting protest that this blue lipped stillness was a crime against nature, and that an essential part of him was stuck in this deathlike motionlessness with her.

And he was. When Sirius had first laid eyes on her in such a state he could. Not. Move. Sirius Black was an ambulatory being no longer as he stood before her unmoving body speechless, all the air sucked from his lungs as he drunk her in. Her perfectly plump, bow lips were an icy, cruel cerulean. Her lively and riotous curls formed a kinked, limp halo around her head in a sad sort of angelic beauty; there was a persistent wrongness in seeing the lustrous strands without the little blue sparks of righteous, angry magic. The cute ball of her body and the fit of her hands pillowed beneath her puffed out cheeks was inexcusably erroneous when she had no one to curl that little ball against; when there was no one to relieve her tiny hands from their pillow forming duty, whether with a sculpted chest or muscled forearm; when her huffed little breaths were deteriorating so quickly, too quickly, from adorable little snuffles to strained and wheezing rasps for air.

It had been with the thought that her breaths were **deteriorating** , that Sirius realized that he wasn't moving, and he had to; he had to get his little hurricane home. He'd beenable to ignore the fact that he'd thought of her as **his** little hurricane as he scooped her up into his arms, coining the excuse of 'emotional distress.' It wasn't until later, after he'd unceremoniously dropped her still unconscious form into her bed, letting a posturing and worried Pippsy take over, that he let his thoughts stray to his use of the possessive little epithet. He could've made excuses of obligation, or protective introspection from his primal, male mind, but found that he didn't care to. He was too focused on just how badly he was going to chew out Little Miss Kitten in the morning for being **so** fucking stupid.

His – and no, he will not acknowledge the fact that that pesky possessive pronoun was just used **again** \- crazy, pint-sized hurricane could've died tonight; her category five had been fading to a tropical depression fast and if he hadn't found her when he did he had no clue what would've happened. And he didn't want to find out. Those rasping wheezes of her declining breath were sure to haunt his dreams for a while, but that had nothing to do with her; seeing anyone in such a state was evocative of such feelings, his obstinate mind insisted.

But how could she do that was the question that made the darkly beautiful imagery all the more lingering. Falling asleep on the frosty forest floor was clearly the actions of a suicidal mind. How could she not know of the corollaries that followed being overwhelmed by a sylvan descent? The answer was she couldn't. She had to know that in her post torture state she was more susceptible to the frigid climate of the British Isles, summer or not the U.K. was known for its rainy and, often times, cold weather, particularly in the deep forest where the suns warming rays are less apt to reach.

He knew she'd been through a lot and he definitely knew she was hiding something behind that vacuous, amnesiac façade -well maybe not vacuous, he doesn't think the little smart mouth could pull off empty minded if she tried, though she definitely had something to conceal behind all that 'amnesia'- but, was she ready to die to keep her secrets? And, if so, why? What was so bad that she was willing to die for it and did he even want to know? No, he undeniably wanted to know, that wasn't even up for debate, but this suicidal episode was definitely worrying. Was this secret dangerous? Was that why she was so insistent on keeping up her enigma, for their own good? Merlin he **loathes** when people do things for his perceived benefit, like Dumbledore in his full omnipotent glory, if Sirius hears that man say 'for the greater good,' one more time he was liable to Avada him, incredible, twinkling leader of the light or not.

His mind on killing curses and secretive Headmasters and little green curses, he resolves to solve the mystery of her, the puzzle that is Hurricane Hermione; for her own good as well as his, because, if there's one thing Sirius Black hates, it's someone telling him what he 'doesn't want to know.' And, in one of the plethoric arguments they've had from the second they met –it was hard to believe that was hardly more than a week ago… and that she was virtually comatose for the majority of the time-, she had told him just that.

First bed though, he had played catch the Kitty, but in the morning was kitten castigation, and he needed to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for it; even if she was the one he picture with the bushy tail, much like her hair that's been made so voluminous by piles of thick, lustrous curls… Such a fucking Kitten. Maybe he should call her Hurricane Kitten, she definitely had that cuddly cute look of a kitten, and that intelligent eyes thing most felines have, but she also definitely could have the temperament and effects of a hurricane, or at least she did when it came to him…

Yes, Hurricane Kitten was the perfect sobriquet.

~o~O~o~

Peter Pettigrew had a problem to solve, and unfortunately for him, despite his best efforts to achieve the contrary, academics- of which's purpose he equivalized to said problem solving- had never been his strong suit.

You see the ratimagus, as his marauding friends so jokingly referred to him, was out on his usual evening trek when he came across quite a conundrum; Hermione Granger, there resident amnesiac was muttering, a happening which on its own might not foster much concern was made severely disconcerting by the words she spoke, well… grumbled.

Yes when Sirius noted 'those marauders present' in the evening's passionate argument about their live-in, gale force, feline spitfire, he failed to realize that that generalization did not include him. Really he failed to gather anything past the fact that his gatito princessa wasn't there. Gatito princessa, Princess Kitten… yeah, Peter was fairly certain Sirius would be calling her that way soon enough, considering his propensity to slip into Spanish when angry and **her** already noticeable proclivity to enraging him so; slaps and hilarity were sure to ensue. Anyway the reason he was not present resided in his post walk wonderings about his in walk learnings, or rather puzzlements, as he didn't really discover anything past the further mysterious entanglements the walking talking enigma exuded to ensnare them all; it was as if her secrets were the tentacles of the kraken on the hunt, she just may take them all down and he was now more confused by her then he was to start with.

Had she screamed about time travel? And was the 'mutt' she was grumbling about Sirius? If so, how did she know about his animagus? Or even did she know about his animagus, was mutt just some cockamamie insult from the future she'dyelled about travelling back from? And who was this 'rat faced idiot' she was supposedly sent to transdimensional arsenide? He had to admit that her huffy mumblings and insults were fairly funny, particularly the part about calling her wand her 'beautiful piece of wood'-he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud and blowing his cover at that one- but that didn't make her words any less off-putting. Nor did her magical display, that exhibition of wandless magic could put the fear of Merlin into cracked out Death Eaters like Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' estranged cousin, not that he would want to claim relation to such a… well, for lack of a more eloquent descriptor, nut sock is an apt signifier; as in a literal sock filled with nuts, and one of those wackadoddle looking pairs of socks too, but only their wacky socks that are neither fun nor colorful, these are like dark, twisty, life of Meredith Grey times seventy three types of socks stuffed to the cuff with pistachios- which **everyone** knows is the nuttiest type of nut- embroidered with the name Bellatrix Lestrange.

Anyway so Sirius' kitten princess was in the woods blowing things up and screaming about temporal rat poisoning, and Peter was on his walk wondering about what truths could possibly lie in this duchess of fur's spiel that clearly lacked any tangible amount of sanity. Looking back on it when he came to the barrage of raised voices and pit of hysteria that was his home, he realized that he probably should've stuck around to make sure Countess McFluffington didn't die on the forest floor by impalation from one of her own exploding branches. But when Sirius came back with her minutes later, sporting a distinct lack of arm sized splinters or ruby red blood, he figured he could give himself the all clear on guilt; despite her near hypothermic, passed out state. It was summer after all, and even if they were in the historically wet, frigid British islands hypothermia wasn't your typical summer worries, her post- torture state made her a special case. Plus it wasn't as if Sirius would let his Lily die! No matter how pissed off she made him, and even if he didn't know yet- like everyone else did within the first five minutes of meeting her- that she was the one that would take his deceptively big, rebel spirit and leather clad heart -or heck, that she already had it- he still couldn't let anything happen to her. He would say they were written in the stars if he wasn't sure Lily would slap him upside the head for 'spouting off that divination shite again.'

But his responsibility, or lack thereof, for her depleted state was neither here nor there; bigger fish had to be fried, or rather, he had to discover which larger rats had to be poisoned.

~o~O~o~

A splitting headache and bustling house elf is not what the freshly wakening Hermione expected approximately thirty seven hours later. Seeing her meandering into a slow conscious had the wide-eyed little creature loosing a gasp of delighted surprise as the little elf started fusing over Hermione's pillows and blankets, fluffing lifting and tucking her into a sitting position as she gently scolded. The witch strongly suspected that if she hadn't just woken up from an undesired day and a half long power nap the chided reception would be far from 'gentle.' As she listened to the little elf she was reminded painfully of Mrs. Weasley, a tender woman whose care could never be question and whose fury was bigger than her bone crushing hugs whenever one of her cubs were harmed, the punishment for their aggressor would never come light even if they were their own antagonist as was the case for Hermione this time. The young witch would only hope that the tiny elf didn't have the same propensity towards a wooden spoon as her antecedent in Hermione's life, or really more like her subsequent she supposed as the elf was technically the one from the past, even if it wasn't the witches past, if she simply had the energy to care. If the harmful comparison didn't drive her even further into her agonizing emotional abyss.

Yes this little elf was definitely not so large and in charge and it hurt to think what it reminded her of, even if she was, on some compassionate level, the level that founded SPEW, glad to see an elf well cared for and indeferential. But still she was pained by where her thoughts were taking her, so much so that she felt it better just to shut them down, shut her whole mind down so that the mild castigation she was receiving had to travel through a thick veil of water and misunderstanding. She was underwater, drowning in her emotionless shutdown as voices tried to reach her in the form of little rays of light, but her ocean was too deep, no light could reach her in this blackout. Her heart was the aphotic zone and it was better this way, here were she felt nothing, good bad or otherwise because there was nothing to feel, only a Cimmerian wasteland where the pain could not touch her as noting could here.

And it was better, better to feel nothing at all, she thought as she somewhere registered that the softly scolding voice had stopped and giving a briefly whispered, "I'm sorry," that held not an ounce of sympathy or regret as she had none to give. No emotions at all. _Yes,_ she thought uncaringly placid, _nothing is definitely the better._

~o~O~o~

When Sirius awoke two mornings later only to hear Pippsy's familiar, if not slightly softer than usual, scolding coming from behind a door held slightly ajar. He couldn't quite explain the slight twinge in his chest that felt suspiciously like relief when he recognized the door as belonging to their resident spitfire, and realized that you had to be awake to be scolded.

His much protested relief quickly vanished as he peeked through the doors thin gap, to say he didn't like what he saw behind that slab of thick mahogany that so reminded him of his kitten's fur was an understatement of proportions outside the possible spectrums of measurement. She was so dull, a brief flicker of pained despair had crossed her eyes and then just… nothing. All the light of life left her usually warm whiskey eyes, they're fire extinguished in a way that could plunge the entire world into eternal darkness, like the last ember of a camp fire stealing your final vestige of warmth and light only to replace them with cold obscurity under a thick canopy of threes. She was lifeless, even her usually energetic and incontrollable curls that he'd previously compared to a door – seriously what was his problem? He saw pieces of her in everything and he'd known her for such a meager time frame; and he didn't even like her! - seemed lank. She just sat there, staring at her hands entwined in her thick quilt as Pippsy raved on, "Grangy Miss should never have gone outside, Missus Grangy is sick, still recovering, silly Miss could have died." He was worried she had slipped back into her catatonia, but that was the worst part, she seemed aware, she just seemed not to care. About anything. Even as she apologized meaninglessly to Pippsy in a voice rough with disuse, "I'm sorry."

She just sat there, staring at nothing, with a cold unfeeling air that made her seem dead in every sense but the physical. Looking in there made him feel as if he were glancing in on the body of a wake and it was distinctly uncomfortable, painful even, so he looked away feeling intrusive. He didn't know why he cared, you couldn't intrude on a dead girl anyway- and that's exactly what she was now- specifically one he cared nothing about. It should not be effecting him this way, so it wouldn't; or at least that's what he'd keep telling himself.

Three weeks. Three weeks of waking up, spying behind a cracked Mahogany door for some unknown and irritating reason, seeing a ghost, eating breakfast, seeing a ghost again, working with the order, peeking in at a ghost again, eating dinner, stopping by to make sure that above mentioned ghost was still a ghost, going to the bar, finding a shag that he can only hope stands up to at least mediocre standards, coming home, and again stealing another look at the ghost because all his sub-par shags weren't enough to clear his mind of the wisp of a girl. Seriously, where'd all the good shags go, and why are they so hard to come by? Were there none left in the world? If his partners' feminine moans were anything to go by, which of course they were, he most certainly wasn't the problem; he wasn't called a sex god in school for nothing. But now even Marlene couldn't quite do it for him, her vapid personality was starting to get in the way where it never used to be a problem, before all that mattered was a body and a tight cunt now all that meaningless sex was… well just that meaningless. Before the fact that he was having sex was all the meaning he wanted, now it was as if his subconscious, his heart, was trying to tell him he **needed** more.

Merlin, he was going all wax poetic on the subject, what a wankstain. If Lily could hear him now she'd probably gasp in shock at the fact that her 'wittle baby man whore' was growing up and he'd never hear the end of it; from her or his fellow marauders.

But what he wouldn't want to admit to was the fact that they were right. Admit that war had a tendency to make even the most carefree of jovialists sober up and find maturity. Admit that he'd 'grown up,' so to speak, while he still could. He wanted the chance to experience everything, and supposedly his heart believed a meaningful romantic relationship was a part of that 'everything' life had to offer.

What was wrong with joviality? What was wrong with carelessly fucking half the British female population? He knew the answer was nothing, well at least it was on the jovial front. Of course logically he knew that the same couldn't be said for the whole 'careless fucking' prerogative, it was bound to hurt someone, no matter what he told himself and them. He may never have been wounded by the illusion of more, but that's because he had never wanted more; the same could not be said for some of his past partners. That's why he had so few repeats. Only **true** birds of his feather, birds that just really enjoyed some blithe sex, ever became his… what was it the muggles called it? Oh yeah, Booty Calls. So yes, carless fucking hurt people and hurting people was, of course bad, so thus, to put it in simple terms, carless fucking was bad.

But anyway, that wasn't the point, the point of all that rambling about his debauched behavior –rambling which Sirius Black would deny ever happening, Sirius black did not ramble- was that he, like many fighting in something so life altering and awakening as a war, had changed. He had grown up, he'd grown wise –well as wise as it was possible for a marauder to be-, and he'd grown discontent.

When it came down to it he decided emotional maturity was for the dogs, and not the dogs of the big, black animagus variety, for the annoying yippy dogs that he could eat for breakfast as Padfoot. He had always been responsible -how could he not be after being blasted off his family tree at fifteen- and mature in the sense that understands the world for all that it is, from its sunny days to its much less then savory facets, thus he knew what to expect from the cruelty of the world. Hence why in his book emotions could go stuff it, nothing good ever came of them.

Sure he loved his true family, the marauders and Lily, but that was all he could open himself to. He would never let anyone else in the fold, he would never give another the power to truly harm him like his snake for brains relatives did with their disowning him. No matter how insane they were the house of Black was still the family he was born into and having that heritage denied wounded; if only because his brother too denied him, he was the only Black he ever truly cared for and for him to push Sirius aside without even so much as a second glance in his 'unworthy' direction cut deeply. The little brother he'd taught to play quidditch couldn't even spare a moment to look at him with disgust. It was ultimately because of this betrayal that he wished he'd been born a Potter. Even after all the beatings, lashings, and torture he never once wished his family gone, why? Because he still had his little Reggie Veggie, a name coined from the time a toddling baby Reggie threw mashed peas into his mother's hair -young Sirius had been beyond amused and this was one of his first and few childhood moments before Hogwarts that he could recall in fond reminiscence-, to protect. Despite the bruised check he received afterwards as punishment for laughing at 'a lady's discomfort.' Yeah, if his mother was a lady, than he was a flying pink flobberworm.

The point of Sirius' bizarre and rare internal babble was that he didn't do the whole attachment thing, if only for his own protection, but his walls were shifting. It took some serious gale force winds, the kind only a hurricane could possess, but one by one they were falling to whiskey eyes and wild hair. He could deny it all he wants, but his life was perfectly satisfying until she came along. There was no missing piece, there was no questing heart, there was no disappointing sex, somehow she was to blame for it all and he didn't know why. He wanted to know why! Admittedly, it was possible that on some deep, instinctual level, he knew; possible that his heart knew the feelings his head would valiantly deny. But right now all he knew was that she infuriated him. That he wanted to abhor her. To decode her. To reveal her a liar, a prevaricator of deceit entangling them all in the deceptive web she expertly wove, the web that he longed to untangle.

That he wanted to kiss her. To shag her rotten, because what was a little hate sex between two clashing adults? Perhaps that was his problem? Maybe he needed to go a good round with his little hellcat, well, hell kitten, in bed. They do say opposites attract and they certainly didn't share many commonalities.

However fucking the hurricane wasn't an option, he didn't know whether or not this was a fortunate conclusion, but she didn't seem the type for the cleansing euphoria of hate sex. Not that Sirius couldn't be persuasive, and not that he wasn't up to the challenge… but Lily would certainly kill him for messing with someone in such a 'vulnerable state.' And an angry Lily could give old Voldy a run for his money. Humph, vulnerable his fine arse, he may call her Kitten, but she was a kitten toting a chain saw with razorblades for claws.

Though maybe she was vulnerable, three weeks was a long time to be emotionally dead, not that he cared. No of course he didn't care, his walls may be coming down but they were reinforced steal monstrosities and he wouldn't go down without a fight. He wasn't one to merely fall in love, he was one to be dragged into it, kicking and screaming all along. So yes, not one fuck was given by Sirius Black about Hermione Granger, and you know how fast and loose he was with his fucks.

But then again, who didn't get a little tense after three weeks of cracked Mahogany doors and silence. 

**AN:** Hey guys, I know it's been like five ever but I've been really super busy and I've been writing this in little spurts whenever I can. But the good news is that life has slowed down a bit and one of my New Year's resolutions was to write more. Also in the good news category, this chapter was so long I had to split it in two so most of the next chapter is already written. Yay! So anyways this chapter is for SabrinaLeStrange, SunflowerIce, Padfoot'smyMan, BeautyBrainsHG (whoever you are oh anonymous reviewer), Blue Raging Fire111, Black Banshee (I think that's everyone who reviewed last chapter?), and everyone else who has supported this fic. Keep your eyes opened for part two of this chapter to be up real soon (and by soon I mean normal people soon, not my soon that means five months between updates lol). Oh, and tell me your favorite line of the chapter please? I'm curious.

Love ya ;),

~3lw 


	7. Chapter 6: Depression part 2

Chapter 6: Depression part 2, Heart Taken by a Dog

 **AN: So, I guess I owe y'all an apology. I said an update was coming soon but look at us here months later and I'm just now getting it up, but in my defense my writing got away from me. You see I've finished writing the depression section of the story but that section has turned into a 7 part 25,000 word behemoth. The next parts are centered in Hermione's dreamscape, I can tell you that when you're depressed you mostly either just sleep or sit around waiting to sleep so I think it's fitting. Anyway I wrote all 25,000 words in one document as a humongous part 2 but then decided it was too long and separated it into smaller pieces, so the good news is you should have fairly frequent updates for a while until all those bits are out, yayyy!**

 **WARNING: I don't have a Beta and I don't proof read much, so yeah, errors**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my creativity, my plot, my ideas, and my car Jim Bean, thank you**

She tried, she tried so hard not to care. To let nothing matter. To be blank, detached, to simply exist until death had pity enough to take her into its eternal ebon grasp. But the dreams wouldn't let her; just as the nightmares held her captive from her urge to forget. All the replaying memories, distorted or otherwise, beseeched her to fight, relentlessly assaulting her with the emotions she longed to subdue into oblivion.

They always occurred in the same order, the dreams, depicting the days that changed her life forever, starting with the man that became her heart and ending with the day that scarred her soul with everything in between.

 _Watching Ron getting drug down into the Whomping Willow_ _Hermione turns to face Harry with a gasp_. _Unable to find words she just stares at him whilst he babbles on in livid fear. "He got taken Hermione, by a dog! A fucking dog! What the fuck does a dog want with Ron?"_

 _Atypically having no answer for him, she attempts to put the world back on its axis by responding in the habitual Hermione manner, "Language," she scolds._

 _"But Hermione Ron just got abducted by a bloody dog," Harry whines in protest._

 _"Way to state the obvious, Harry," Hermione volleys in exasperation._

 _"We have to go after him," Harry acknowledges matter-of-factly._

 _"Well yes we do," Hermione agrees, the sarcasm clear in her voice. "And what, Harry, do you suggest we do about the Gigantic man-eating tree?!"_

 _At her scream Harry has the decency to look admonished, but he wouldn't be Harry Potter without his chronic case of foot in mouth syndrome so he decides to point out, "well technically it's more of a man_ _ **beating**_ _tree."_

 _Hermione seethes, "Harry James Potter, now is not the time for-" cutting off, the witch is distracted from her rant by the brush of her bushy ginger cat's bottle brush tail as he darts under the tree, "Crookshanks wait!"_

 _Hermione gasps in worry as a ginger blur dashes through the wildly swinging branches, though concern quickly turns to relief as a tiny paw hits a knot on the tree, calming the sway of its limbs. "That's my smart little kitty," Hermione coos as she dashes to follow the fast feline under the tree, Harry rolling his eyes as he hurries along behind._

 _Coming into a dilapidated house, the shrieking shack, Hermione realizes, she spots Ron lying on a bed off to the side. "Ron you're okay," she emotes rushing too gently, or gentle in Hermione's case hug her friend._

 _But Ron doesn't acknowledge as at the same time Harry comes in asking, "The dog… Where's the dog?"_

 _"He's the dog Harry," Ron screams in warning, paling even more then Hermione thought possible even with his broken ankle. "It's a trap Harry. He's an animagus."_

 _Hermione looks in the corner, where the dusty paw prints of a dog lead in an easily discernible pattern. Her eyes widen in horror as they spot Sirius Black in all his sunken cheeked, shaggy haired and wild eyed glory. She's rendered immovable his stormy grey eyes met hers and Harry draws his wand. Shaking her head she tries to escape the intoxicating, draw of his orbs stepping in front of Harry both as a shielding barrier and as a way to assuage her attraction to the near painful allure of their magnetism. "I'll protect Harry with my life," she says plainly, fire dancing in her eyes as she continues to meet his gaze._

 _The wanted fugitive glances warmly, even if still a bit crazed, over her shoulder to his godson before again burrowing his stare into hers, "That's nice pet," he commends, "But we can't be having that now can we? Only one person is dying here tonight and it is going to be Peter. Now, where's the rat," he quires, brandishing his wand with a flourish._

 _But Harry shouts, "EXPELLIARMUS," catching the wanted man's wand as it hurtles through the air. "If anyone dies tonight it's going to be you," Harry shouts keeping his wand raised to the criminal as Hermione remains still, captured by his ferally glowing orbs._

 _Sirius Black cants his head to the side in a sight eerily reminiscent to his animagus counterpart. "Are you going to kill me Harry," he asks curiously, almost indifferently, his voice holding none of the fear the thought of one's death usually brings._

 _"Yes," Harry answers vehemently as the criminal merely shrugs aloofly to an effect that was vaguely disconcerting._

 _"Okay, but at least wait until after I kill the rat," Sirius says as his gaze flickers to where Ron lay on the bed._

 _Remus Lupin bursts into the room just as Harry shouts, "No! I won't let you hurt Ron!"_

 _Hermione rolls her eyes, "he's talking about Scabbers Harry," she enlightens._

 _"Right you are Mrs. Granger. I would say five points to Gryffindor but this is a bit extracurricular," says with a grin. "Sirius you're looking a bit ragged there," the marauder points out, turning to his old friend. "Guess the outside is finally matching the madness inside, eh?"_

 _Sirius just gives a smirk that can only be described as roguish as he laugh in return, greeting him with a, "it's been a while Moony."_

 _"Moony?" Harry asks in enraged confusion, "Professor Lupin, what the fuck is going on?!"_

 _But the man in question just walks over to embrace his old friend in a mannish hug that one would give his brother, "no it's been five whiles Pads." Remus emphasizes as he pats the back of the man made near frail by adversity._

 _Hermione interrupts their reunion as the friendly epithet awakens an unwelcome memory. "Professor Lupin, isn't tonight a full moon," she whispers fearfully._

 _"She knows," Sirius asked with a surprised cock of his eyebrow as he regards the petit witch._

 _"It appears so," Remus responds jovially as he too turns to the witch, "how long Hermione," he asks wonderingly as the girl watches the two men interact with wide eyes._

 _"Since Professor Snape's werewolf essay," she admits sheepishly._

 _"You really are the brightest witch of your age Hermione," Remus states with pride as the she blushes prettily. "And yes it is a full moon but not to worry this Peter Pettigrew will be exterminated before nightfall," he smile_

 _Sirius Huffs, "Great she shines like the sun and you howl at the moon. Now that we have that established, let's do like you said and kill the rat!"_

 _Harry pipes up here clearly fed up with being caught out of the loop, "WHAT FUCKING RAT? PETER PETTIGREW IS DEAD! HE HAS BEEN SINCE HE," Harry furiously gesticulates to Sirius, "KILLED HIM RIGHT AFTER HE BETRAYED MY PARENTS! HERMIONE WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"_

 _"LIE'S" Sirius screamed. "I'd never betray Lily and James, they were my family!"_

 _"HERMIONE?" Harry screams in askance again._

 _"I DON'T KNOW." she hollers in answer before taking a deep calming breath. "I don't know," she repeats, softly this time. "How could I? I've never met this many before," she points out, indicating Sirius and staring deep into the man's grey eyes, realizing in that moment why they've had her so entranced since the second they first met hers; there was something there, something vulnerable and true dancing beneath the surface made mad by Azkaban and an overwhelming desire for vengeance. "But I trust them," she announces making a sweeping gesture to the two men. "Both of them," the curly haired witch continues adamantly, never breaking his enticing gaze as she makes her claim, and means it with the whole of her heart, a heart that she was yet to know now belonged to the prisoner of Azkaban._

 _"Hermione," a voice called as what felt like an earthquake rumbled beneath her._

 _"Mmm," the young witch in question moans as she turns over in her bed, nuzzling down into the covers as she tried to drift back into the sweet dreams of stormy eyes and silky black hair, "Sirius."_

 _"Yes Hermione, I'm serious you have to get up," a voice that she now recognizes as Ginny's commands from above as the Gryffindor princess' eyes snap open. "We're under attack," Ginny says as Hermione makes to sit up in bed._

 _That's all she needs to scramble out of bed and pull a distraught Ginny behind her as she made for the door of the magically enhanced tent they were sharing for the Quidditch World Cup earlier in the evening. As she pushed aside the flap that served as the barrier between them and the outside world she began to register the screams that permeated the air as distressed witches ran away from… something. Hermione couldn't tell from this distance, but it appeared they were fleeing from whatever was floating ominously in the air a few rows down from their tent. "What in the name of merlin…" Hermione begins to wonder aloud as Arthur Weasley begins to make his way over to them._

 _"Girls," he exclaims as he reaches them, pulling them in for a quick embrace, "you have to get to the forest, it's too dangerous out here," he explains looking at the floating figures anxiously. That's when Hermione realizes that the floating things weren't just figures, they were people, more specifically the muggle family that ran the campground. And the wizarding populace wasn't running from them, no, they were running from the haunting individuals magicking them up into the air, individuals in billowing black robes and silver bone masks, individuals all Hermione's history books identified as Death Eaters, the servants of Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord responsible for the last wizarding war. The Dark Lord that propagated anti muggle and muggle-born propaganda. The Dark Lord that wanted her dead just as much as his little sycophants did._

 _"Fred, George, take Ginny and run," Mr. Weasley instructs while he readies his wand for a duel. "Same goes for you three," he says, turning to Harry, Ron and Hermione as the three red heads begin to follow his directions. "Stay together," he shouts after the groups thundering into the woods._

 _"Hermione, stay between us," Harry demands as they sprint along._

 _"Harry, honestly-" Hermione begins to protest as he cuts her off._

 _"No Hermione, you see what they're doing to those muggles, something doesn't seem right-"_

 _This time it's Hermione that interjects, "Of course it doesn't seem right! There are muggles_ _ **floating**_ _through the middle of a crowded campground!"_

 _"You know that's not-" Harry resumes his argument again, and just as Hermione open her mouth to interrupt again, Ron beats her to it._

 _"STOP!" he yells, causing both of the offenders' mouths to snap shut. "Harry's Right Hermione, those are Death Eaters and I know you know it, you know everything, and I mean that in the best of ways. I know that you're going to say you can protect yourself Hermione, but you can't Hermione, not against the dark arts and not against Death Eater scum."_

 _"But if there Death Eaters, wouldn't they want Harry more," she points out as they continue running at top speeds._

 _"To them, you're an easier target-" Ron starts to answer._

 _"Hey, I'm not-" Hermione launches in to gripe before Harry intercedes her._

 _"Honestly Hermione, for someone so smart your being downright stupidly belligerent. Ron isn't saying you're easier because your weak, he saying it because to them I'm not just Harry, to them I'm Harry bloody Potter, the baby that killed Voldemort and you're just some muggle-born I'm friends with," Hermione stumbles as that shocking truth resonates in her fearful brain. 'Mudblood,' her brain echoes at her in a voice that sound suspiciously like Draco Malfoy. 'Scum. Nothing.' The boys pull her up and her feet continue to move even as her mind is stuck in her terror, 'filthy little mudblood,' it screams._

 _Blundering through the woods, she hears a mocking laugh that she realizes isn't only from the taunting voice in her head any longer, the boys were starting to hear it to, "Why if it isn't Potty, the mudblood, and their pet weasel. Running, huh? Scared of a little spring cleaning, huh Mudblood? Where's all that Gryffindor courage now Granger."_

 _The boys move to stand in front of her, hackles raised and livid scowls on their faces, but she pushes them aside, "I don't know if you've noticed, considering your inferior intellect to that of a slug, but its summer Malfoy." She states matter-of-factly as her eyes narrow at him, his smug bravado only serving to turn her temporary horror into righteous anger._

 _"The only thing inferior here is your dirty blood Granger and would make it fall even more tonight if the world weren't already filthy enough without your life force filthy enough," the boys snarls and raise their wands as she hears a suspicious growling coming from the trees behind them but she simply smile sweetly at him._

 _"I'd like to see you try inbreed," she challenges wryly._

 _His pale skin reddens as he moves to step forward, he hissed, seeming to think better of it when Harry and Ron brandish their wands menacingly, "you'll regret that Granger. The best thing you'll have to hope for in the new coming world order is that that pretty face of yours earns you a spot as someone's bed warmer. Maybe I'll even let you be my whore, I can assure you I won't be gentle," is his foreboding promise as he turns to walk away._

 _"Nice 'Mione, inbreed, that's a new one," Ron commends as he gives her a congratulatory hug._

 _"Not so tough without your goons, now are you Malfoy," Harry calls to his retreating back_

 _"You'll see potter," the blonde voices in ominous maliciousness, not even bothering to turn around._

 _Harry frowns but turns to Hermione anyway, "You alright 'Mione? Don't listen to him, Malfoy's a right git," Harry encourages with a conspiring grin._

 _Hermione just smiles sadly as she replies, "But he's right this time, isn't he? You guys just said it yourselves, mudbloods are fair game, especially Harry Potter's mudblood."_

 _That suspicious growling comes from the woods again as Harry and Ron bark at her, "don't ever let us hear you call yourself that again," they demand as she stares at the sylvan floor blankly._

 _"Do you really think they'd pass me around like some common harlot," she whispers at the ground dreadfully._

 _"Hermione, Voldemort's gone and no matter what my dreams say he's not coming back. I won't let him. So even if they would want to," Harry snarls before he continues, and he's not the only one, "'pass you around like a common harlot,'" he quotes, "we won't allow it," Harry promises as Ron nods along._

 _"Yeah, Bloody 'ell 'Mione, get it together! It's not like you to let what Malfoy says get to you so much, you're shaking like a fucking leaf! Gryffindor up," Ron coaches._

 _"Language Ron," Hermione Admonishes looking up at him with a small, watery smile._

 _"There we go. There's our 'Mione. What would we do if we didn't have her to mother us?" Ron grins._

 _"The world would fall off its axis," Harry says seriously, much to Ron's confusion._

 _Hermione giggles as Harry laughs uproariously, "its science Ron, a muggle thing, I'll teach you," Hermione tells him._

 _"Ugh, more learning? But 'Mione, it's summer," the red head whines as Hermione giggles spritely again._

 _"Come on slow pokes," she heckles playful as her tiny, bright giggles continue to burst out, music to the ears of the previously concerned boys and a certain growling animal in the woods that thins it's never heard a sound so pure or innocently intoxicating._

 _They move along in amiable silence, fear having left the witch through her streams of palliative laughter. Her laughter was a bandage, a sticky piece of latex that covered her problem… but the darkening of the woods and the arms that snatched her back into the trees were the hands that ripped the bandage off._

 _As the light faded from the trio's wands, plunging the woods into the blackness of the starless night. Hermione narrowed her eyes in confusion, trying to get her pupils to dilate to the point where she could see into the dark distance. Whipping her head around at two consecutive dull thuds she calls out, "Harry? Ron?"_

 _The lack of response gets her heart racing in a painfully bruising manner against her chest. Her hair flogs her face as she quickly turns forward again, there was the snapping sound of a twig breaking somewhere beside her and no matter which way she turns she cannot determine its origin. Her rapidly turning head snaps back as she feels a hand roughly grasp her arm with an abrupt spinning pull to haul her against their foreign body. Her head thuds into what she assumes to be the broad chest of a huge man, certainly larger than either Harry or Ron. A shrill scream is all that manages to escape her throat as she feels a suffocating hand the seemed to encompass all the size of a dinner plate clamped over her mouth, forcefully dragging her deeper into the forest with the thick arm wrapped around her waist. No matter how she squirmed she couldn't free herself from the hulking man, and yes this was definitely a man as he was lacking certain… indicative assets._

 _She'd never felt more helpless in her life, not when she was standing in front of a fully grown werewolf as a mass murdering Death Eater made his escape, nor when she lay in a hospital bed petrified by an overgrown, glorified garden snake, never. That was until the man lit the tip of his wand -both in the literal and metaphorical sense as she could feel his more… personal wand, digging into the soft flesh of her tummy- and spun her around to see what danger she truly faced in this moment. In that second all her previous fear of the unknown was rendered childish frivolity, the eyes she looked into held promises of a future darker than anything she could ever have imagined in the vivid horrors her mind's eye drew up for such occasions as this._

 _Her antagonist reached well over six, possibly into the seven foot range and his muscular width gave Hagrid a run for his money. All she could focus on as he toward over her diminutive, not yet five foot form was his eyes; dark, navy eyes that sparkled with a perverted leer as he glared down at her._

 _"Well, hello little Mudblood," the gigantic man jeers as he runs his fingertips against her check, caressing a riotous, rich mahogany curl, flicking it to see how it springs before he continues. "I've heard the Malfoy boy complain quite a bit about you girl, good friend of his father's I am, always potter's Mudblood this and that, going on an' on about how you beat him in this class or another. Think he's been developin' a bit of a crush recently, must say I can't blame. What, seeing as you're such a pretty young lass, only just freshly turning fourteen and already beginnin' to sport your womanly attributes," He acknowledges running his hand down to fondle her already well past burgeoning breast as she attempts to swat him away._

 _"Hmm, I can't seem to imagine the patriarch of such a proud 'Pureblood family' as the Malfoys associating with a Neanderthal such as you," Hermione seethes with an eye roll and exaggerated finger quotes; her Gryffindor courage, spurred on by her righteous anger at his depraved manhandling, overriding her fear in that moment. She wasn't a lion for nothing after all._

 _The man she'll come to know as Walden Macnair in the future growls, "Neanderthal huh? Still out ranks a filthy little Mudblood," he sneers._

 _Hermione just rolls her eyes again in a façade of boredom, longing for her wand she sees sticking out of the giant man's boot, "look if you're going to try and kill me we may as well just get it over with. Perhaps it can spare me having to see any more of this ridiculous posturing, no? I've seen enough pomposity for one day, I think."_

 _"Feisty. Oh, you know how I like them feisty," he groans, looking up into the heavens. "No filthy one, I have something much more enjoyable planned for you then death. I plan to make you mine tonight girl, so that when my lord returns and you take your rightful place in society no one will question my ownership for it'll already branded by the terror in your pretty brown eyes whenever you gaze upon me."_

 _Try as she might to keep the dread from her face, the second he removes his cloak, unbuckling the belt beneath with a click, her blaring internal fear creeps into the glow of her whiskey orbs temporarily. She may be slightly naïve in this sense, the sexual sense, but she knows what he means to do; something she feels to be the ultimate torture, a kind that never leaves you, leaving its sick and twisted scar on your heart in a way that can never be forgotten._

 _But she wouldn't be a lion if she didn't fight on, bravery was the purest form of the courage that made up one of the traits her house embodied. A trait she exhibits flawlessly as she spits in his face, "Death would definitely seem preferable for the both of us because, I assure you, even if I could be 'owned,' I would find a way to make certain it isn't enjoyable for either of us."_

 _The anger that fills the Death Eaters face as he wipes her spittle from his masked visage is near palpable, radiating out to Hermione as she struggles not to sink back in the fear that consumes her as he raises his hand to her face as if to slap her. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing her terror, even as it devours her whole._

 _She closes his eyes to brace for an impact that never comes as in its place a dog growls and a man screams in agony. A big black dog with grey eyes, she notes as she opens back up to her surroundings. Sirius. She doesn't even take a second to think about the fact that he shouldn't be there as the relief courses through her. That is until he changes into his human form to confront the man with his flying fists._

 _Using his own considerable height to pounce onto the Death Eater, Sirius snarls, "She's fourteen you sick fuck," each word being punctuated by a forceful punch._

 _Hermione see's recognition flash through the Death Eater's eyes as he gasps, delirious from the pain of having a dog attached by the teeth to the front of his trousers only seconds earlier, "Black?"_

 _"Yup, but you can remember me as the man responsible for your worst nightmares Macnair." Sirius answers continuing to strike the bloodied head of the man even long after he's out cold._

 _The sickening squelch of his fist striking bloody skin is what awakens Hermione from her shock, spurring her into action as she attempts to drag the enraged animagus from the indisposed toady. "Sirius. Sirius stop! You'll kill him," she exclaims as she tugs on his arm._

 _"He deserves it," Sirius is adamant. "The way he looked at you," he rumbles with a sickened look of protective wrath._

 _"No," she begs, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as she beseeches him. "Please. You're a good man Sirius Black and I refuse to let you become the murderer they accuse you of being because of_ _ **me.**_ _Because of my weakness," she cries still trying to drag the man off the body. "Please Sirius," she whispers as his fists finally stop pounding into Macnair's prone physique._

 _The grey eyed Marauder brusquely stands up spinning around to drag the now sobbing girl into his chest. She takes in deep gulps of his comforting scent; 'he smells like leather, faint cigarette smoke, musk, and home,' she thinks as she cuddles into him. "Shh," he soothes as he runs his fingers through the sobbing girls curls. "It's okay my brave little kitten. I was just a bit mad kitten, I'm so sorry, but not at you, never at you."_

 _Hermione manages to giggle a little as she tilts her head up to look at him with wide, wet eyes, "Just a bit huh?"_

 _Sirius gives a lopsided smirk that makes Hermione's heart stutter, "Just a bit," he confirms placing a light kiss on her forehead that elicits a soft sigh._

 _As he pulls his lips away, Hermione turns to burrow deeper into his embrace against his sturdy chest. "I was so scared," her tiny voice confesses from its muffled home against his chest._

 _He hushes her with a consoling squeeze, "I know." He says, knowing she means of Macnair genuine threats and near success. In all honesty he was scared as well, terrified really. So many things that had happened this summer were signifiers of Voldemort's imminent return, meaning the life of the little witch in his arms as well as his godson would be in constant peril. "I know," he whispers, holding her tighter in a feat he thought impossible until that moment._

 _For Hermione Granger, the war would truly start today. No more childhood follies with three headed dogs and over grown, glorified garden snakes. No more blissful ignorance to her forced place in this world. Today she learned what the term Mudblood meant to those who coined it. Today she learned what her life would be according to pureblood mania. Today she learned that she didn't fight out only out of any sense righteous or pure Gryffindor, she also fought because she had to; there was no life for her if she didn't._

 _Hermione Granger fought to survive._

Hope you liked it, byeee =)

Love,

~the3littlewords


	8. Chapter 7: Depression Part 3

**AN:** Y'all got me to 50 reviews and over 200 followers with the last update so I figured you deserve this.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing but my insane plot which stems from my equally crazy mind

 **WARNING** : same as always, I have no beta and don't really proof read much

 **Chapter 7:** Depression Part 3: Weeping Whirly Pops

 _She should be more excited._

 _Well she had been initially, when the thrill of actually being noticed by a real live member of the male population had still been fresh; and a sought after international Quidditch star at that. But then Ron had to open his big fat Weasley mouth._

 _Hermione loved Ron, she really did. He was her brother in all but blood after all… However the gangling redhead had a syndrome, one that could get him killed one day should it make itself prevalent at the wrong time, one that ran rampant in the blood of the fiery tempered Weasley household. This condition is known as Foot in Mouth Syndrome by the general population but is also known by a misfortunate few as Slap to Face Disorder. Ron Weasley had recently become one of the misfortunate few._

 _See Hermione Granger wasn't a girl to the male populace of Hogwarts. No to them she was the barricaded little sister of the Boy who Lived and his Weasel sidekick, both of whom went off to fight dark wizards and thought with their wands- the actual wooden, magical kind mind you, so no perverted grins or 'my wand can be quite magical' s or 'you make my wands wooden' s, if you please - not their lacking diplomacy. Hermione had always been the attaché of smooth talk in their group, the girl who could absolve most any tension with a warm smile and musical laugh. Now that's not to say she wouldn't be right by their side with hexes flying, or a fist to the face in Malfoy's case, when someone truly tested her patience, or was just a downright evil git, but in the boys' case there was no alternate to hex first ask questions later; particularly when it came to protecting their 'Mione. A fact that the guys of Hogwarts were painfully aware of, especially after the unfortunate incident the previous year when a certain Ravenclaw suitor found himself hanging by the bullocks from a tower balustrade consequently following his attempts to move in on our darling bookworm during her lonely moments that correlated with what was to become known in the Golden Trio as the Great Scabbers Incident of '93. Needless to say Hermione became a bit of an untouchable amongst any of the Hogwarts male population that didn't enjoy having a very sore set of balls, which was of course the entirety of said population._

 _So yes, to the boys of Hogwarts Hermione Granger was an unattainable Goddess covered in red tape and great big signs that read no trespassing. The foreign visitors had no such dilemmas, seeing as the story of a certain Terry Boot's calamity was kept under tight wraps; because, of course, the boys responsible had a strong desire to keep_ _ **their**_ _bullocks out of the blissfully unaware Hermione's grasp. So no, to a certain visiting Bulgarian seeker Hermione Granger was a very_ _ **attainable**_ _goddess surrounded in an appealing Gryffindor golden girl glow._

 _Thus, when Ron wrongly assumed the bookish beauty was unilaterally leaning, all while implying she was an undesirable last resort deserving of_ _ **his**_ _pity, he was subsequently handed his arse in the form of the punishing sting of a red hand printed cheek courtesy of the palm of one Hermione Jean Granger._

 _The night of the ball Hermione and Ron were hardly on extremely tense speaking terms and, with Harry so wrapped up in his own Cho drama, the lacking presence of her best friends brought a whole new bitter sting to the season's most anxiously awaited event. Staring in the mirror at her full red painted lip, Chesnutt curls in an elegant, diamond studded chignon, and sparkle coated whiskey eyes framed by long lashes and winged liner she sighs. She doesn't feel like herself, and it's not the lack of books nor her actually tamed riotous hair that makes her feel this way. It's the lack of someone to share it with. Not many people know that beyond her books and oft time forced sensibleness lies an empathetic soul who crusades for the world's happiness and sees no purpose in her own joy without some form of decent company to go along with it. Without Harry and Ron to share in the joy of primping, and the future laughing and dancing, and her actually feeling beautiful for once in her life the night had a bleak outlook._

 _Hermione shook her head, Harry and Ron may not be there for her but they would still be there… Plus she would have Viktor with her the whole night, she may not know the burly Bulgarian all that well, but from her experience she had gathered he was a sweetheart, who was surprisingly -in her opinion anyway- very into her, so she knew he was definitely a far more than worthy companion to share in the night's splendor._

 _Bypassing the giggling, girlish hubbub in the common room as the primped up harpies gossiped about who was going with who and how_ _ **hot**_ _the boys of Bulgaria were, Hermione goes down to the main stairs leading to the great hall, perhaps feeling a little smug that one of those 'hot boys of Bulgaria' were hers for the night._

 _She felt like the perfect cliché of every romanticized muggle prom movie as she descended the marble stairway in all her finery to see the popularized, Quidditch celebrity dream date waiting for her all black tie – or the wizarding equivalent rather- wearing at the bottom. But something was glaringly missing from this moment that epitomized every school girl's fantasy, something that made the brilliant smile she gave her waiting suitor fight to turn down at the ends…_

 _The butterflies. The earthshattering, mind-numbing, all-encompassing spark that all the greats from Jane Austen, to Shakespeare, to Nicholas Sparks acknowledged as the end all be all in their world-renowned works of literary art. Now Hermione wasn't a giggly school girl, nor a horny house mother, but with her persistent romanticism added to her ever-present optimism and zeal for lifting up the down trodden, it was an accurate statement to claim she 'viewed the world through rose colored lens;' and, Merlin darn it, if those rose colored lens showed lightning, fluttering metamorphosed bugs and the full on grand finale of a new year's eve fire work display as love, than that's what she wanted to have._

 _Maybe the butterflies were a secondary response? Maybe they came with the dancing, and the talking and the touching? Maybe it was, quite literally, 'in his kiss;' thank you, Betty Everett, for those words of wisdom._

 _For once, Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, actually did not know the answer to this tremendously vexing quandary. All she did know was that she wanted it. No, she needed it. She needed the pounding heart beat that pitter pattered an affectionately nervous tattoo on her chest. She needed those intensely endless pools for eyes that bore straight into her soul and displayed her every desire in their fathomless depths. And she thought she'd felt that once, last year, but as the time passed it was easier to tell herself that she was certain she was wrong; after all Hermione Granger did not fall for rugged older men, particularly not of the escaped ex-convict variety, no matter how wrongfully accused._

 _Shaking her rumination Hermione turns up her megawatt smile to take Viktor's arm and be led into the opening number with the rest of the competitor couples. His touch was soft yet firm as he led her in the dance and she found his hand and expression both to be pleasingly warm._ _ **Perhaps it really is in his touch,**_ _she thought as they twirled about the floor… but still she knew something was missing._

 _She chose not to focus on her perceptions of a seemingly lackluster night, turning instead to the pleasant sensation it was to be the center point of_ _ **anyone's**_ _single-minded devotion. She only hoped that single minded devotion was to her personally,_ _ **not**_ _her knickers._

 _She let the thrill of being wanted, even if by someone she didn't wholeheartedly want back herself, wash over and lower her inhibitions for the night. The lacking spark was no longer a preclusion of enjoyment, it was instead a preclusion of pressure that made the night all the more carefree; she had no one to impress. Her new found bliss gravitated her towards her friends, towards forgiveness of Ron's far from tactful tongue, and towards her own undoing. So as Viktor poured them glasses of the likely spiked punch, she made her way over to make peace with the bumbling red head and share, as she had wanted to from the very beginning, her delight in the nights events; it was unfortunate that her attempt at extending the metaphorical olive branch had to turn into an almost literal Treaty of Versailles [1]._

" _You came with_ _ **him**_ _?!" Ron demanded after she had given a cheerful greeting and forgiving smile to Harry and himself._

 _Hermione drew back in affronted shock, as if he had struck her in the same way she had him all those days ago, "What? Viktor," she asked in confusion._

" _Yes, Viktor_ _ **Krum**_ _," Ron emphasized as he glared down at her with clear disdain written across his features. "As in the famous Bulgarian seeker and_ _ **Triwizard Champion**_ _! You're out there frolicking about with Harry's competition, he shouted accusingly._

 _She looked between her two best friends. Harry had reddened to the tint of Ron's hair in embarrassment, opening and closing his mouth in an uncanny resemblance to a fish while he tried, and failed, to find something to interject into their brewing argument. The king of weasels, as she had come to calling Ron in her recent anger –only internally of course-, on the other hand was beyond red into the purple category in his trademark Weasley anger as he heatedly berated Hermione about her choice in dance partner._

 _Hermione was livid, and there was nothing Harry could say, even if he wasn't in a state of gaping confusion, to bring her off the warpath of her righteous furry. "Yes Ronald Weasley I am here with_ _ **Viktor Krum,**_ _the 'famous Bulgarian seeker' you seemed to be in love with last week," She screamed, throwing his earlier words back in his face._

" _That doesn't" matter he seethed back, "your fraternizing with the enemy! He's probably only with you to get to Harry or your knickers! Hey maybe he wants to go for the two for and is trying to get away with both!"_

 _He'd said it. He brought voice to a hitherto unnamed fear. A fear that said no one would want her for all that she was. That no one would want her past her books or her burgeoning beauty. That no one would want her for her heart._

 _At that point she could no longer hold back her impending waterworks as she slapped Ron for the second time that week. "You, Ronald Weasley, are an arse," she managed to squeeze out of her tear clogged throat before she fled the great hall._

 _She could hardly hear Harry's gasp at her shocking vernacular as he called pleadingly after her. But she couldn't stop. She wouldn't. She needed to get away, she needed to get away to a place where she wasn't suffocating in her own misery, to a place where she could_ _ **think,**_ _where she could do what Hermione Granger does best and rationalize the situation. Though if there was one thing she had trouble rationalizing it was herself, her feelings… it was what some people in her life would call the one thing she couldn't do; but that was only if they knew her plight of course, which no one cared to do. In reality there were many more things the labelled illustrious Hermione Granger couldn't do. She had no illusions of her own grandeur. She was no goddess. Certainly not one of quidditch; she was pants at quidditch. That thought made Hermione snort for a short moment as she continued to run through the halls, but the choking tears soon took control again._

 _No one got her, no one saw this side of her that feared; that wanted to be loved fully and unequivocally. The part that wasn't just the bookworm or a pretty face, but a human being that was_ _ **illogical,**_ _and_ _ **irrational**_ _when it came to maters of the heart. The girl whose heart was behind most everything she did just as much as her book filled brain was, if not more. The girl who fought for the beliefs and desires of that large, yet fragile, heart she had with her every breath and was always one step away from breaking as she tried to hide that it was on her sleeve. Obviously she was good at hiding, at being what she needed to be, because no one knew how much she_ _ **felt**_ _. Sure she could solve a problem and think past charging in blind just because 'Snape's a greasy git' and 'Malfoy's got to get what's coming,' but that didn't make her any less emotionally charged then the rest of Gryffindor house; she just showed it differently. She solved problems, wrote perfect essays, and cried in secret; well secret for the most part._

 _No one knew her heart._

 _Except…_

 _ **For someone so smart that has to be the most illogical, fantastical line of thinking I have ever come across. People are selfish beings and the world is a cruel place, you need to take your heart off your sleeve before someone stabs it; I worry for you kitten.**_

 _Isn't that what his letter had said?_

 _ **I can just see you waving your little fist in the air narrating this letter preaching about house elf rights as you wrote it.**_

 _Hadn't she done just that?_

 _ **You were crying while you wrote this, weren't you pet? Gingeylocks is an idiot princess, and no boy, not even my godson and especially not Ron Weasley, deserves your tears.**_

 _Had she not had to spell water marks off the paper as her tears stained the pages?_

 _Someone did know her heart. Understood her, even after such few personal meetings, from a mere piece of parchment; a note sent from miles away._

 _Sirius Black did what her best friends, her brothers failed to do. What her teachers, peers, and neighbors failed to do. What even her own parents failed to do. He got her, he saw her heart, sitting right there on her sleeve, and didn't turn a blind eye to it because she was just Hermione Granger the Gryffindor book worm, so good at hiding behind her pages._ __

 _Sirius Black got her and, somehow, that made her feel a little less alone; because even if he wasn't always there for her, even if she didn't merit a mere second thought for him, she would always be there for the man who did what she had thought impossible… The man who got her heart._

 _Hermione Granger had been at Grimauld place for a month now._

 _A month of sending letters that were purposefully,_ _ **painfully**_ _vague. A month of receiving replies whose words were far from passively aggressive about being kept in the dark. A month away from her parents to learning how to fight the good fight for Dumbledore's 'greater good.' And a month with the man who made all those struggles seem worthwhile, made the unbearable bleakness of it all fade away with his jovial air, the air that even Azkaban couldn't steel away, even with all its years and all the other damages the prison held over him, damages she could see in his soulful eyes. Yes, a month with Sirius Black._

 _She'd come to learn a few things over that month. About the man. About his life. About his family. She'd also learned a few less than pleasing bits about her headmaster but that wasn't the point she was focusing on as she stared out the library's bay window. She was focusing on just how badly she wanted to cry, and just how hard she was holding those tears in, and just how everything this man had been through made him both the perfect and imperfect man to hold her through them._

 _Perfect because he knew just how much it hurt to have your heart shorn and imperfect for that same reason, he knew just how much it hurt to have your heart shorn by the loss of a friend but he knew so much more pain then that. He knew true agony that meant if her heart had been shorn his had been obliterated. He knew this pain from reasons wholly more awful then her own, reasons that would never be entirely mendable as hers were; if anything, in fact, they were entirely_ _ **unmendable**_ _._

 _Her being so weak where he is strong, where he goes on from every day, after facing things so much worse than she- so much worse than any human being should ever have to face was inexcusably sickening. Her crying and breaking in ways that he never openly showed with that jovial air and flirtatious grin… It felt wrong. The guilt it wrought to want to burst out in tears and seek comfort from a man who didn't break under an elephant's tonnes where as she broke under the weight of a bird's feather could only be described as extremely, excruciatingly erroneous._

 _Then again she thought that maybe he had been broken. Sometimes she could see it in his eyes, behind that jovial air, behind that flirtatious smile, beneath all that banter and his easy laugh were eyes that showed a very broken man. In those moments, when those Grey eyes could no longer hide the agony of his shattered heart, she wanted to take all of his pain… But how could she when she couldn't even bare the weight of her best friend being angry at her?_

 _So she sobbed. She sobbed in a muffled, reclusive agony, filled with both sorrow and enraged antipathy. Sorrow at being subject to her friends pained and wrathful words. And an angering self-resentment at her own failures. Failure to convince Dumbledore of her friend's need of them, of their transparent support in the wake of the most awful competition victory in history. Failure to be what Harry needed most under the restraints of her commandeered and edited writings. Failure to protect him when he needed her, a job she had long ago assigned herself. And finally, failure to assist the man who made her feel a little less alone in this world, a little less different and wrong, in chasing away his demons. She tried so hard to be what everyone needed, to be strong, and brave, and unyieldingly compassionate but she was never enough. She always failed where she was needed most, no matter how much she read, or how many smiles she gave, or how many angered vents she'd sat through and soothed she was never enough. This is a fact that was never more blatantly clear than in it was in this moment; the moment when Harry, her neglected brother to protect, said that he hated her._

 _ **Where's the Hermione that punched Draco Malfoy in the face when you need her?**_ _The witch wondered as she stared at the derelict garden from her rickety seat on the tumbledown window ledge in the musty, ramshackle library of Grimauld place; the house painted the very picture of dilapidated but it was her heart that felt the most like ruins at the moment. She could've really used some of that Mike Tyson, quick jab to Malfoy's condescendingly lifted nose courage in that moment; she had some real issues to fight through right then but all she could do was sob._

 _So sob she did, she cried until her throat hurt and her eyes were red, she cried until the lights went out and the moon came up, and she was still crying when the door creaked open and his telltale surefooted, confident steps hit the libraries worn Persian carpet; a green rug of course, a Black family home wouldn't have anything in the classic red associated with the rival Hogwarts house of Gryffindor to their typical Slytherin. Typical but not entirely mutually exclusive, a fact proven by the very man striding into the room, Sirius Black, the first Black to ever be sorted into Gryffindor's pride -a possibility once thought antithetical to the ancient Black name- and the very definition of bravery in the heart of a lion._

 _Hermione turned fully to the window in an attempt to keep her flowing tears hidden, biting down hard on her plump lower lip and clenching her fists to keep from making the telling motion of wiping her eyes. She clenches her eyes shut, feeling the dampness of her long lashes on her already wet checks as his signature footsteps approach. His hands on her shoulders turn her around to face him as her eyes flutter open, stormy skies meet dark bourbon whiskey as Hermione takes a sharp breath. Her mouth was open in a soft 'o' of surprise at the raw emotion in his eyes, ones of compassion though she didn't dare think love. He said nothing as he hauled her into his chest letting its lean muscles catch her continued whimpers._

 _Hermione was the first to speak, "Seems I'm ruining your shirt with my blubbering half of the time we meet, perhaps I should give you money for dry cleaning," She said, looking up at him from her place against his chest; both unready and unwilling to let go yet._

 _Sirius chuckles, "Wizards don't need dry cleaning Kitten, and this only the second time since the world that you've in your own words 'blubbered all over me.'"_

 _"Hey! I didn't say I 'blubbered all over you,' I only acknowledged that I have a propensity for ruining shirts with aforementioned blubbering, and what was the other time after the world cup?" Hermione protested with what Sirius thought was an adorable huff._

 _"Ruining my shirt with all your blubbering implies that you blubbered all over me so same difference," He smirked as Hermione rolled her eyes and puffed a breath of annoyed acquiescence. "Though in answer to your question Hermione I have only three words for you, Weeping Whirly Pops."_

 _"Hey, that's not fair Sirius! That time doesn't count, the twins know my weakness for lollies so I can't help it that they used me as a tester for their latest prank," she argued with a scowl that looked more like a cute little pout on an angry bunny to Sirius; and the stomping foot just added to the aesthetic._

 _"You still bawled on me Pet," Sirius said with a wink._

 _"Oh get stuffed mutt," she says pushing him playfully on the shoulder._

 _"I usually prefer to do the stuffing myself Pet, I don't really swing that way," Sirius responded with a wriggling of his eyebrows._

 _Hermione gazed up at him in confusion, letting out a questioning, "Wha..?" Before comprehension clouds over her features and she burrows her blushing face against his chest in embarrassment. "Siriusss," she groaned in chastisement._

 _"Yes kitten," He asked with feigned innocence._

 _"Don't you yes kitten me," she started, pulling away from his warm body again, but she gasped in realization before she slapped his chest in peevishness. "I know what you're doing," she accused._

 _Sirius cocked a brow, "And what would that be Kitten?"_

 _"You're distracting me," she claimed as she pushed a finger into his breastbone._

 _"Umhmm, and why ever would I do that Kitten?" he asked nonchalantly._

 _"So I'd forget about what's making me cry, but it's not going to work, this is too important," she declared._

 _"Of that I have no doubt Hermione, you don't strike me as one to cry over boys or other such frivolities. I just wanted to calm you down before we talked about it, I find that makes thinking clearly far simpler," Sirius acknowledged._

 _"You wanted to calm me down so you figured striking up an argument was the best way to go," she laughed as she looked at him with mirth shinning in her eyes._

 _"It was a friendly argument," he countered with a smile._

 _"True enough," Hermione nodded._

 _Sirius' mood suddenly turned, well, serious, some would even say somber. "Now what are you crying about," he asked._

 _Hermione turns her head away, "Well it's certainly not frivolous," she began, staring at her small, slippered feet on the floor, "but it is about a boy," she finished, looking up at Sirius once more. When she sees the furrow to his brow and the deep frown of befuddlement on his face she rushes to explain, subconsciously reaching up to massage the crease out from between his eyes. "But not in the way you were thinking when you said that earlier. He's not that kind of a boy, he's just my brother, well not my birth brother, you all know I'm an only child, but that doesn't matter he's still my brother, I've loved him like one for going on five years now… Oh gosh I'm rambling. Anyway, it's about Harry. What I'm crying about, it's about Harry."_

 _"Harry?" Sirius asked for confirmation._

 _"Yes, Harry."_

 _"What about Harry," he inquired with interest._

 _"He just said he hates me and I'm leaving tomorrow," Hermione cried. "How am I supposed to fix this if I'm leaving tomorrow?!"_

 _The desperation in Hermione's voice as she asked this question made the air thick with tension, "Hermione he doesn't really hate you-" Sirius began before the witch interrupted him._

 _"My Family gave me until Harry arrived to stay with Ron and his family, they think I'm still at the burrow! I haven't been since the first day of hols and my parents don't even know it. Harry isn't even supposed to be here yet, but now since the dementors attacked I'm forced to either lie to my parents or leave my best friend_ _ **again**_ _after he just finished telling me how much he hated me in the first place. Sirius I can't keep lying to my parents but I just can't go home right now," she moaned in dismay._

 _Sirius pulled her tight to him once again, "You can Kitten. You can go home, and as much as I'd hate to see you go I think you need to. Dumbledore pulled you into this dirty old house from the second you got off the train to be in the company of racist portraits and nasty, decrepit old house elves, well it was only the one house elf but still," Hermione giggled despite her usual giving of a S.P.E.W spirited defense of said elf Kreacher. "And to make it better, since the moment you set foot in this house you've dealt with not only that abuse and prejudice but also fighting for what you believe in with Harry essentially on your own."_

 _"You fought with me," Hermione contradicted. "You wanted him here just as much as I did. And a fat lot of good it did us too, he's pissed at the both of us."_

 _Sirius laughed, "That he is Kitten," he agreed._

 _"I was still glad to have at least someone on my side," Hermione said, managing a weak smile._

 _"I'll always be on your side Kitten, even when we disagree," Sirius grinned._

 _Hermione rolled her eyes, "Sirius that doesn't even make any sense."_

 _"Sure it does," he contended._

 _"How so?"_

 _"It means that even when we're arguing I'm still going to be there for you, I'm still going to be your friend, and I'm still going to protect you with everything that I am," Sirius explained in an earnest proclamation._

 _Hermione let out a puff of air as she gazed, wide eyed at Sirius. "I don't know what to say to that," she breathed, her lips pursed as she acknowledged this._

 _"You don't need to say anything Pet, just back your bags and go home for a little while. We'll all miss you but I'm sure that with some time apart Harry will be writing to you begging forgiveness for being such a hot head within the hour," Sirius promised._

 _"You may be right," Hermione sighed._

 _"Oh I'm definitely right, I may have met him only a little over a year ago but I know my Godson," Sirius smiled._

 _Hermione laughed, "It may not be within the hour though."_

 _"You're right, it'll be the half hour," Sirius calculated._

 _"I was thinking more along the lines of three," Hermione guessed._

 _"Sorry dear Kitten, I'm going to have to say you're wrong on this one," Sirius smirked._

 _"Do you want to take that bet Sirius Black," Hermione asked fluttering her lashes at him in a show of innocence._

 _"How much?"_

 _"Five Galleons."_

 _"You're on Kitten," Sirius accepted with a grin. "If Hedwig isn't flying out the window within an hour of Harry finding out you're gone I'll owe you five Galleons, we'll tell Ron and he'll monitor."_

 _"Deal," She agreed, reaching out to shake his hand._

 _Sirius takes the proffered hand as an excuse to pull her in for another tight embrace, "It really will be okay Kitten, I'm sure you'll come here to find the usual clueless Harry the second you return from your parents."_

 _"You seem to always be soothing me Sirius Black, as much as you really don't portray yourself to be the type," she smiles at him glibly as he gives her a petulant pout. Her mood is solemn when she continues, "you're a good man Sirius Black."_

 _Sirius doesn't say anything, he just held her all the tighter at the assertion, but she realized something at that moment. As much as she meant that statement and realized it to be true, she intended it in so much more than the typical sense. Not only was he the stereotypical 'good man,' he was a good man for her. He had said it himself, he was always in her corner to protect and support; she truly meant something to him outside being his Godson's best friend. Just as she felt more for him than one generally would for a best friends Godfather. What this 'more' was, was yet to be determined, but what Hermione did know in that moment was that it was an extraordinary feeling to have someone to count on, to be there for you as unconditionally as Sirius Black claimed to be for her, and she loved it._

I hope you liked it, I was really happy when I wrote this and I hope it makes y'all smile as well, let me know if it did! Also, you should listen to Betty Everett's It's in His Kiss it was playing through my mind in a loop as I wrote some of the first part of this and I love it.

The Treaty of Versailles marked the end of world war one and essentially forced Germany to claim full responsibility for the war's happening, the reparations paid resulting in an impoverished nation that lived in painful infamy caused the persecuting treaty to be justly viewed as a direct cause of World War II

All my love,

~3lw


	9. Chapter 8: Depression Part 4

**IMPORTANT AN:** So another chapter is up fairly quickly, snaps for me; though, in further information, I had someone question if Sirius from Hermione's time in the future remembered meeting his little hurricane Kitten in the past and I wanted clear that up for y'all, no he does not. In this fic I'm exercising on the idea that time is linear so by Hermione going to the past she is creating a new timeline from that point so technically his meeting her hasn't happened yet since Hermione's existence there is creating a whole new reality. While he does not remember her as he technically has not yet meet her, he does feel a kind of connection to her that will be explained later into the story along with a special surprise regarding his memory. Any way thanks for reading and I hope you like it, let me know in a review please! =)

 **Disclaimer:** All I own is my insane plot and… we'll go with originality, the rest is JKR's unfortunately

 **Warning:** I is not the best of proofreaders

Chapter 8: Depression Part 4: Warding the Wrackspurts

 _She had cut her skiing trip short. Merlin she had cut her skiing trip to nonexistent. She hadn't seen her parents since her summer escape from Grimmauld and Harry's anger and the tense distance between them was growing to the point of it being palpable. But what else was she to do when she had an injured Mr. Weasley, an unjustly guilt ridden Harry, and an unwillingly housebound fugitive ex-convict to bring Christmas cheer to?_

 _Sighing, she gently placed her trunk on the floor of the cold dark room that had been a home of sorts to Ginny and herself over their summer at Grimmauld place. Plopping herself down on her chosen bed she closes her eyes, sighing as she enters a silent, calming moment of meditation; after a precarious ride on the knight bus the calm was much needed in her book. She rubbed her sore shoulder muscles courtesy of having carried her trunk across what felt like a half marathon of distance to arrive at the Black manor, she had bid her bus to stop on a street quite a few kilometers outside Grimmauld and disillusioned herself heavily to counteract any wondering malevolent eyes hoping to find The Boy Who Lived through his 'pet mudblood;' she would take the small price of a few sore muscles any day if it meant the safety of all the loved ones she had waiting here._

 _She puffed her breaths out, blowing her wild curls out around her in a way resembling a halo through the process, as quietly and as rhythmically as possible, hoping not to disturb any of the inhabitants of the somber house so soon into her arrival; she may not have minded walking the ten kilometers to get here but Mrs. Weasley would certainly give her an earful about 'exhausting herself' when there was a 'houseful of perfectly good Order members' to pick her up. She had drifted so deep into her exhausted calmness that she missed the approach of a guest to her room until she felt the soft, feather mattress of her downy bed dip beside her. Leather, cigarettes and a hint of a divine masculine musk that could only be found on one man, she didn't even need to open her eyes to know who it was. Sirius._

 _He was the only one who would take that could manage such a quite approach anyway, years of experience filled with padded feet and pranking did have their benefits after all. Though, come to think of it the twins may have been able to pull the silent factor off, they had become quite sly in their sneaking over the years, but they certainly most wouldn't go through the effort of doing it only to sit quietly beside her._

" _Can I help you my sweet little puppy," Hermione sighed in a relaxed exhale as she subconsciously leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder._

 _Sirius snorted, "Believe me kitten there is nothing sweet or little about me. Those would be two adjectives much more apt in describing you."_

 _Hermione yawned slightly as she burrowed her face into his shoulder to smile, "I wouldn't be so sure about that Mr. Tough Guy Ex-Convict."_

 _Sirius chuckled at what he clearly thinks to be her adorable antics, "Hmm, Tough Guy Ex-Convict… How original?"_

" _That may be true, but I bet no one has ever called you that before," she tiredly pointed out._

 _She felt the rumbling of his laughter through his chest as he responded, "It's true enough that they haven't, it's usually either much creative or err… colorful."_

" _Well, you know how I feel about colors Mr. Black, your my most desired dark one and when it comes to the others I quite prefer the brighter, more sunny types and I'm quite sure those aren't the colors you meant with your description," Hermione rebutted._

" _And you would be quite right in that assumption," Sirius smirked._

" _Um hmm," Hermione continued. "And as for the creativity factor, I am much too tired to be witty at the moment Mr. Tough Guy Ex-Convict."_

" _Yes, about that… Why did you show up to my house so late into the evening meal hour panting and exhausted? And why didn't you tell any of the, sadly, currently non-rambunctious house guest downstairs of your arrival."_

 _Hermione ignored the question protest, "I was not panting."_

" _Oh, you most certainly were princess. Canine hearing, remember," Sirius responded with a raised eyebrow of inquisition._

 _Hermione in turn just wrinkled her nose at him, "Oh be quiet you mangy mutt."_

 _Sirius' smirk only broadened, "Again with the originality," he laughed before turning slightly intense. "But you're avoiding the question kitten, how did you get here and why are you practically passing out with fatigue now that you've arrived?"_

" _Oh I travelled in a multitude of combined ways, and didn't want to be yelled at about the last one of the three that, in your words, put me on the verge of passing out with fatigue so I snuck upstairs," She explained vaguely._

" _Very cute, and you didn't even quote me exactly so you must truly be lethargic," he rolled his eyes as she giggled into him. "But I'm serious Kitten what were the 'multitude of combined ways' that you travelled here?"_

" _Hmm, bravo Mr. Black, now that was an exact quote. But you're always Sirius sooo…"_

" _Kitten," he said warningly._

" _Fine," she sighed tiredly, all playfulness leaving her. "Well I arrived to the station on the express of course, then I took the knight bus to Nottingham Way, snuck down one of the side alleys to disillusion myself with an untraceable wand I bought while polyjuiced on Knockturn, and walked the rest of the way here."_

 _Hermione felt the body of the silent man beside her shaking and knew he was livid, she couldn't bear to pull herself away from him though as she burrowed further into his warmth in preparation for the inevitable explosion. When he didn't speak for a few moments but continued to vibrate with a heated rage, she managed to meekly -and let it be known that meek is rarely a word that can be used to describe Hermione Granger- whisper, "You're angry." A statement, not a question._

" _Of course I'm fucking angry Kitten! The knight bus is a rolling death trap! Nottingham way is not only at least a ten kilometer walk from here, but it's also in an extremely bad part of town; I don't care if you're a witch with an untraceable wand, muggles can be just as resourceful as any wizard and I know what they do to girls like you in that dark alley you went down so you could hide yourself away during your little fucking hike! And that's not to mention the plethora of Death Eaters and sycophants at the station looking for an in to suck snake faces cock that would've followed you to get," Sirius steamed._

 _Hermione tried to hold back her mounting ire at his assessment, and while she is usually the level headed peace maker amongst her merry little bunch of roaring lions, it cannot be said that when she's righteously riled up that she is anything short of a white fire of burning rage, her title as a lioness was well earned. She pulls away for him to punch his shoulder, "Girls like me?! What do you mean by that Sirius Orion Black?! I am not weak just because I'm a tiny and have a vagina, I can take care of myself even without a wand I'll have you know! And you don't think I know how to figure out when I'm being followed, I'm best friends with the boy who lived for Merlin's sake and I wouldn't put myself anywhere near him if I didn't know how to keep him safe from the surfeit masses that want him dead!"_

" _Oh, you can defend yourself so well without magic, eh? So that's why that hit just then felt like a butterfly kissed my shoulder?" Sirius retorted._

" _I will hex you into oblivion Black," Hermione warned._

" _You need magic for that kitten," Sirius reminded in the same warning tone._

" _Ugh, Sirius I'm here and I'm safe can't we just leave it at that," Hermione screamed._

" _No we can't, because you could not be either of those things kitten, you were too worried about us to ask for help and I could've lost you," Hermione almost could've sworn his voice crack with emotion but shook it off as her sleep deprived, fatigued imagination. "So many things could've gone wrong tonight kitten and we need you, I need you."_

 _Hermione inserts herself tightly back up against his chest, taking in deep gulps of his scent to keep the stubborn tears pooled up by his confession at bay. "I'm so sorry Sirius," she breathes, "I didn't mean to worry you. I just didn't want to trouble anyone with my travel details and I knew everyone would need me. If I would've told you beforehand that I was coming you would've done something crazy like come and get me yourself and would've wound up with your soul sucked out by a Dementor. I can't let that happen to you Sirius, because Harry needs you, and I need you, and I'll always need you so you can't die. Please don't do anything stupid and get yourself killed Sirius. Please don't die," Hermione had long since lost the battle with her watering eyes and was sobbing freely into the stunned animagus' chest._

 _He makes gentle hushing motions as he runs his fingers lightly through her curls, "I'll try my best kitten; I could never leave you."_

" _I'm holding you to that Black," Hermione sighed into him._

" _Okay love," Sirius replied._

" _You know Sirius?" Hermione whispered._

" _Hmm," he responded as he continue to idly twirl her smooth curls around his calloused fingers._

" _I don't think it was the threat of snake penis sucking toadies, or the thought of rapey, murdery men in alleys, or the ten kilometer walk that was the worst part of the trip."_

" _No," he questioned with a canted brow._

" _No," she confirmed in an adamant tone. "It was definitely the Knight bus, way more tiring then lugging a fifty pound trunk around forever."_

 _Sirius smiles into her hair and then she felt his bursting, mirthful laugh rumble through from their tight embrace, "what's so funny," she questions confusedly._

" _I just can't believe that the brightest witch of her age can plan out a whole 500 kilometer journey, untraceable wand, disillusionment spells and all, and then forget to cast a weightlessness spell on her luggage," the Marauder chuckled._

" _Um hmm, go ahead and laugh it up Mr. Tough Guy Ex- Convict I'll just be falling into an eternal slumber on your chest and holding you hostage forever with my unbearable weight," Hermione yawns._

 _Sirius scoops her legs under his arms and stands up, carrying her towards the head of the bed, "yes the unbearable weight of a feather."_

 _Hermione pouts, ever petulant in her exhaustion, "Mmm, not even a sack of feathers?"_

 _Sirius chuckles, "Sorry, no way kitten, definitely less than a sack. Maybe three feathers, max."_

" _Bummer," she frowns again as Sirius just shakes his head smiling at her antics._

 _As Sirius moved to tuck her into bed they find themselves curiously and partially immobilized, with him positioned above her, her arms securely tucked around his neck. Sirius glances up and murmurs something that sounded suspiciously like "the twins."_

" _Sirius, why can't I move my arms," came Hermione's weak, weary voice._

" _The twins enchanted mistletoe," he replied with a sigh._

" _How do we make it go away, I'm sleepy," Hermione whined slightly._

 _Sirius chuckled slightly at her capering yet indolent attitude, "just hold still Kitten." He whispered deeply._

 _As Hermione moved her head to nod in ascent she finds his lips move from their position aimed for her cheek to flush with her own. She melted into the kiss that, until that moment, she never knew she longed for and knew she could never have again. It was an innocent kiss, no probing of tongues or exploring hands, but held lingering promises of desire and, dare she even think it, love. She loved this man. She was in love with Sirius Black and in this moment her heart and soul realized she was his and always would be. He pulled away after stealing a second quick, gentle peck and Hermione sighed in peaceful contentment as she snuggled back into the pillows, "goodnight Sirius."_

 _"_ _Duerme bien mi dulce pequeña princesa,"_ _Sirius whispered as he moved to leave the room._

 _"Mmm," Hermione sighed in her impending sleep, "I love you."_

 _"I love you too Kitten," Sirius promised her near slumbering form as he closed the door gently behind him. Resting his head miserably against the ebony doorframe he whispered again, "I love you too. Dam I'm fucked."_

 _It had taken all of her not inconsiderable strength not to spring into unmitigated, fear-driven action the second Harry had mentioned Sirius' name and danger in the same sentence. Seeing her surrogate brother drop down in pain-filled fright in the middle of the history of magic O.W.L was enough to send her into a frenzying tailspin as it was, especially with his long, far less then pleasant, history with dark lords and others equally as nefarious minded. Add the man she had just come to realize she had fallen in love with to the equation and you had the perfect formula to equal out a frantic, horror driven Hermione._

 _Considering his recent history of Voldemort induced insomnia, linked to seemingly prophetic dreams sent by a creepy, brain-wavy connection – a connection so disturbing that it had even Hermione's eloquent brain thinking in such terms as "creepy" and "brain-wavy"- Hermione knew that the culprit for Harry's fall was yet another Voldemort directed 'vision.' She struggled to stay seated while Harry was dragged in straining agony from the room and wait for the ministry proctor to release them from the exam, knowing that if she even attempted to figure out with her friend she'd probably end up with 'I must not disrupt class' or 'I must not act as a know-it-all mudblood' carved into her hand courtesy of that overgrown toad of a woman masquerading as a stand-in headmistress, Delores Umbridge._

 _The second the exam room doors were open she ran out in search of Harry, she didn't have to search far or long as she was quickly ran to and engulfed in the arms of her teary eyed brother. "They have Sirius 'Mione," was his anguished whisper into her curled locks._

 _She rubbed soothing circles as she quieted him with gentle, incoherent hushing. All she wanted to do was fall to the floor in identical blubbering mess to the boy she was currently holding on to, but she had to keep a level head, she was not labeled the "brightest witch of her age" or the "brains of the golden trio" for frivolous purposes, and while her modest spirit and humble heart hade these accolades they were awarded for a reason. A reason demonstrated by her response to her best friend's mutterings, planning and thorough thinking were her expected domain and this was a role she played well._

 _"Shh, Harry it's alright. We don't know for sure yet; Sirius could be safe and sound at Grimmauld. Voldemort knows about your connection and could be using your love for Sirius as a way to draw you out, this could be a trick. Let's think this through, Voldemort can't get to Sirius while he's in Grimmauld, and while Sirius certainly earned his Marauder name- being mischievous, roguish and having a general predisposition towards rules- he knows better than to leave the house despite the much vocalized misery being secluded there entails for him. Please Harry, before we go off to the ministry wands a blazing – and yes Harry I said we, don't think for one second I'm leaving you alone in this with all your martyr, it's me he wants dragon dung- lets at least break into the toads office to floo Grimmauld? Just to see if Sirius really isn't safe? Then I'll be right behind you on the closest ride out of here."_

 _"_ _ **You**_ _want to break into a teacher's office," was Harry's gap-mouthed reply._

 _"Honestly Harry, you act as if we weren't smuggling dragons out of the school in our first year, must you really think of me as such a prude. Plus that women hardly qualifies as a teacher with her blasted blood quills, and 'theory only' bull," Hermione chastened while rolling her eyes._

 _"Yeah and don't forget trips into the Dark forest and trap doors guarded by three headed dogs," Harry laughed in apology_

 _"Or the spiders," Ron, who had silent up until then, unsure how to deal with a sobbing Harry, shivered in unwanted remembrance._

 _"Oh honestly Ronald, they were acromantulas," Hermione corrected._

 _"Same bloody thing," the red head replied, adding a curious "alright Harry," as he now saw emotions were back under control. That's the best one can expect from a boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon._

 _Just as Harry was nodding and about to include Ron in their plans for Umbridge's floo Neville walked up with a few more familiar faces from Dumbledore's army._

 _Luna ran up and did an odd warding off gesture around Harry's head, "Rowena's slippers Harry, your positively covered in wrackspurts," the eccentric Ravenclaw announced. As she continued to wave her hands in a frantic, patterned motion._

 _"Harry, Neville came and told us you collapsed in the history of magic exam, are you okay," asked a concerned Ginny Weasley._

 _"I'm fine Ginny, just another vision from Voldemort," answered a still obviously worried but amused Harry as he watched Luna's odd dance around him._

 _"Yes, well, that explains the wrackspurts," said the still gesturing Luna matter-of-factly._

 _"Umm, hmmmm," a grinning Harry agreed before becoming stonily grim. "Voldemort may have Sirius were about to break into Umbridge's office to floo and check on him," Harry shared._

 _"We're coming to," Ginny demands earnestly._

 _"Yeah man we've got your back," Neville pledges while Luna Just nods along, muttering something about Harry's apparent wackspurt infestation._

 _Harry, having been friends with Hermione Jean Granger for years, recognized those times when one had lost an argument before said argument even had a chance to begin. That being said it was a stony faced and prepped motley crew that stormed into Umbridge's office to scoop up some glistening green floo powder and call the hopefully still homebound marauder in question through the flames._

 _When a cantankerous old house elf was what greeted them after they're frenzied call to Grimmauld place, Hermione knew this was not yet time to panic – the elf could've been compelled to answer the floo call out of some warped sense of duty he had to the 'Ancient and Noble House of Black' – but her logical mind could not stop the cool sense of dread pooling in her tummy which had plummeted straight down to her feet._

 _"Kreacher," Harry emoted at the sight of his elvish face peering up through the flames, the elf didn't even nod in acknowledgment. "Kreacher, where's Sirius," the worried young wizard commanded._

 _The elf's resulting shrug was a universal sign of 'don't know', while the sneer on his wrinkled elven face plainly added 'don't care' to that sentiment._

 _"Is he there?!" Harry asked in a way Hermione was sure was meant to sound demanding but came out as more of a hysterical plea._

 _"No," was Kreacher's concise reply._

 _"Where is he?!"_

 _"Don't know."_

 _"Please Kreacher," Harry had long lapsed from the point of severe interrogator into the field of terrified, sobbing beggar, "is he safe?"_

 _The resulting 'no' from the now grinning elf was like a dagger of sheer, sharp, crystalline ice plunged straight through Hermione's heart._

 _Harry's screamed, "Where is he's" and "What happen d's" received no response for at that moment a giant green toad and her jolly band of overzealous, overpraised, jacked up garter snakes - they certainly could not be compared to any of the more dangerous species of the creature there house represented, sure they were cunning but their bark, or in this case hiss, was way worse than their bite- otherwise known as the inquisitorial squad, came in and the slimy, pink, puffy amphibian that was the schools tyrant –sorry High Inquisitor/ Headmistress- forcibly tugged his head out of the fireplace._

 _"Who was that on the Floo?" Umbridge demanded, eyes blazing with psychotic fury. "It was Dumbledore wasn't it? I knew that whole collapse at the exam was a ploy to distract me, you had a meeting set to undermine the Ministry's power, to undermine me with your little 'army'! I demand to know what he said, answer me boy! Now!"_

 _"Maybe he would if you'd stop croaking for a moment and let him speak, you overgrown pink bullfrog." Hermione gasped, had she spoken those words aloud? She usually had a better control of her filter then that, but judging by the snickers coming from even the garter guards her slip was appreciated for its comedic value; well, appreciated by all except said 'overgrown pink bullfrog' that is of course. Sirius would be proud, that is if she lived to tell him of it -he was always one to esteem a joke at the deserving's expense or playful teasing between friends; he was a marauder after all- but if looks could kill that definitely wouldn't be the case, she'd have suffered death by toad bile one hundred times over before they could even mount the impending rescue mission she sensed on the horizon._

 _"What did you say to me you little mud stain," in her sickly sweet voice._

 _"I was merely making an observation High Inquisitor, mam," Hermione answered in her own mimicry of the cavity inducing, honey dipped tone._

 _"An observation was it," Umbridge sneered._

 _"Yes of course mam," Hermione replied with a tight smile not wanting to cause any more problems in this situation already rife with the tension from their capture and her mockery, she could feel the words mudblood filth digging into her skin again as she stood stiff with the anticipation of her coming detention._

 _"Hmm, if that's so we can talk about these… observations of yours later tonight in my classroom for detention Miss Granger," Umbridge spat her surname with distaste, her eyes full of malevolent promise and her tone of contempt._

 _Hermione sighed in weary acceptance, "Of course mam." She didn't expect herself and the others to be in the castle later tonight in any case._

 _The toad turned back to her bespectacled hostage, "I believe you have something to tell me Mr. Potter."_

 _"No I don't believe I do mam," Harry defied with burning green eyes that resembled the flickering emerald flames of the floo._

 _"Parkinson," Umbridge barked. Barking, such a strange thing for a toad to do. Who even knew one could?_

 _"Yes madam," the pug like Slytherin girl inquired in her disinterested sneer._

 _"Fetch professor Snape and bring him to the office please," the 'Headmistress entreated._ _ **Fetch, how perfect a request for the dog faced girl**_ _, Hermione had thought before feeling guilty for making such a harsh judgement based solely on physical appearance._

 _Her leering and eager tone when the dour and cruel professor was mentioned almost took away any remorse she felt for her unforgiving comparison. She clearly expecting a less then pleasant experience for the group at the hand of Hogwarts two most hated professors; the dungeon bat probably only slightly less so then the croaking pink toad. Snape at least was fairly reclusive, though students did seem to run into him at the most inopportune at times, it was still the case that his bark –if bats did bark that is- always seemed far worse than his bite, at least he didn't use a blood quill. The same, however, could not be said for Umbridge, somehow, even with the gummy, toothless mouth of a toad, she always seemed to be there with her simpering, domineering voice ready to dole out a painful, grueling bite of punishment whenever she deemed necessary; and for the friends of Harry Potter, with their history of nonconformity and challenging authority in the spirit of integrity and justice, they were judged worthy of far more than a nibble more often than not._

 _The billowing robes of professor Snape rounding the corner signaled his arrival and ended the stare down between Harry and Umbridge as they turned to face his scornful visage, "you rang," the man said in all his drawling sarcasm._

 _Umbridge smiled sweetly at him but her demeanor failed to hide her distaste, "Yes, I need another dose of Veritaserum, Potter has proven to be quite… stubborn in his questioning."_

 _But Hermione gasped in interruption before the potions professor could reply, "You can't administer the truth potion to student's professor, it's illegal, you're treating Harry as one would a common criminal."_

 _"Impeding a ministry investigation and spreading terrorizing lies makes him no more than a common criminal," Umbridge simpered with a disdainful smile._

 _Hermione opened her mouth to rebut, but Professor Snape intervened before a sound even passed her lips, "Be that as it may I am out of veritaserum, you used the last of it on the questioning of Miss Edgecombe, now unless you want to wait a month as I brew more for you I believe there is nothing more I can do for you."_

 _Umbridge scoffed at his inquiring brow so he simply turned around to sweep out of the room pausing only minutely as Harry called out, "Professor, they have Padfoot in the place where it's hidden!"_

 _He spoke in his characteristic monotone, "I assure you Mister Potter, I have no clue what you're talking about," hardly even sparing Harry a glance as he spoke the line that caused the last puff of hope to deflate from the teens body."_

 _Seconds later the Death Eater come Professor was gone, the door being shut ominously behind him. Umbridge's eyes had taken on a mad gleam, she was truly desperate for answers, and Hermione feared what a person with her level of absolute power would do at such a position of desperation. The young witch's fears were proved valid as the Ministry employee drew, her wand and began mumbling to herself, "Well since he won't help me there are always other methods of extracting answers." She turned back to Harry, "Yes the cruciatus should loosen up your lips rather nicely."_

 _Hermione gasped as tears formed in Neville's eyes at the mere mention of the curse that rendered his parents insane. "Please Professor," Hermione implored, "the Minister may have been able to find a way to condone the use of veritaserum in questioning students in alliance with his perceived greater good during a tense national time, but he would never allow you to torture us; with an unforgivable no less."_

 _Ron mumbled something along the lines, "what do you call it when she uses those bloody quills? Poetry writing at tea time? Wouldn't allow torture my fucking arse."_

 _Umbridge flipped a portrait of fudge she had framed on her desk face down then turned to Hermione, "How right you are dear girl," Umbridge said in her false, sickeningly sweet, mocking tone, "but how fortunate it is that what the Minister doesn't know won't kill him."_

 _Paying Hermione no more heed Umbridge turned back to Harry, wand at the ready, "Now Mister Potter, are you sure there was nothing you wanted to tell me," Harry just glared resolutely back at her. A look of pure rage crossed the crazed toad's face as she pointed her wand more forcefully in Harry's direction…_

 _The words to curse didn't even have the time to form in the mad women's mind before a teary eyed Hermione removed her fist, whence she had pushed up against her full lips to inhibit any sobs that perchance may have chosen to pass them. "Stop," the distraught witch screamed out. She planned on the spot to deter Umbridge from her torturous goals, and prayed that her frantic display of Gryffindor brashness paid off. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger couldn't be as rash as the rest, she may be a bit more conscientious when it came to executing her brave moments, but she was just as impetuous as the rest when it came time to charge forward and protect love and justice; as was the Gryffindor way._

 _Years spent as the best friend of the trouble attracting Harry Potter came in handy in that moment, cover stories became her specialty when he waltzed into her life- or rather launched into it on the back of a ten foot mountain troll. As much as she sucked at lying, she could still think one up as well as any seasoned Slytherin, she only prayed the quality of the tale she spun made up for the subpar delivery she was about to exhibit._

 _"Stop! Just tell her Harry! Please, please just tell her!"_ _ **Was that a little overdramatic**_ _, Hermione questioned of herself as she pleaded with the crazed amphibian. She was about to see her best friend tortured so she thought there may be no way to overdramatize that, but if there was her acting skills, or rather, lack thereof, would find it. Didn't she mention that she was a horrible liar? Thankfully Umbridge didn't seem to notice, probably due to her being too focused on her deranged goals to even have the chance to spot her dishonesty._

 _Umbridge's beady eyes gave off a sickening gleam of excitement, "Tell me what dear? Go on."_

 _Hermione threw a quick glance at Harry, his face was lined with confusion but his eyes shown the blaze of betrayal. "Tell you what Dumbledore said, about the secret weapon," Harry's face was all anxious befuddlement now as he waited to hear the tall, no towering tale Hermione was about to spin, "The one hidden in the forest."_

 _"Secret weapon in the forest," Umbridge exclaimed. "He's planning a mutiny, and you really are his Army. What exactly does this weapon do? And when does he plan to use it? Take me to it, now girl!"_

 _As Umbridge tugged her arm to drag her through the door and towards the forest she turned her acting to full blast, so essentially old women in a life alert commercial levels of skill, while she tried to communicate to Harry that she had a plan. "I'm sorry Harry," she dramatically beseeched, "I had to tell her, it's the only way to keep_ _ **everyone**_ _safe." Hoping that he caught her emphasis on 'everyone' and understood what that meant in regards to her plans for his godfather she allowed herself to be drug from the room, a wand prodding into her back as she led the way to her little, sorry, giant, friend._

Thanks for reading my crazy words, I love y'all so much for that, stay tuned because I'm going to try and maintain the speed my updates have been going out lately. Please review, I love those things, they make my day but I refuse to lower myself to bribe you for them so as much as I would love to make you all pancakes it is impossible to send them through the computer so you'll just have to do it out of the goodness of your heart; I know, what a bummer. Any way I love y'all so much have awesome days!

Hugs,

~3lw


	10. Chapter 9: Depression Part 5

**AN:** So the dreamscape continues, sorry this one is a little shorter than the others this felt like the best place to end it without it becoming an overgrown behemoth.

 **Disclaimer:** I own my car, my plot and my crazy other than that I'm dead broke

 **Warning:** I proofreaded bad

Chapter 9: Depression Part 5: Bon Jovi on a Thestral

 _Their trudge across the sylvan ground was silent, save for the occasional rustling of leaves or snap of a fallen twig being trampled. Hermione could feel the malevolent glare of the toad professor boring into the back of her curly head as she prayed to see that familiar clearing that played home to Grawp soon. She would be the first to admit that her plan wasn't calculated to a tee, she still didn't have her wand and she couldn't very well allow Grawp to kill Umbridge, no matter how beneficial that may be at the moment it wasn't right and she planned to keep her record free of murder as long as possible. She would kill to protect her friends, but feared the second that she did would mean the death of her as well; murder simply wasn't a part of her gentle makeup._

 _The extent of her plan had simply been, 'Get Umbridge away from Harry," and now that this was achieved she was at a loss for what her next step should entail. Should she even bring Umbridge to Gwap? They had grown into quite a close relationship, could she trust Grawp not to seriously harm the professor when his 'Hermy' was so clearly in danger?_

 _Thankfully fate, if one did believe in that, personally her faith in it went about as far as it did in the children's fables known as divination, intervened as she didn't find Grawp alone in the forest. Umbridge was speechless, quite a surprise from the ever croaking toad professor. Whether the speechlessness was from fear or disgust Hermione couldn't say, she could only take a peculiar and perverse joy at seeing the women who so hated half breads surrounded by a heard of centaur._ **What are all your bigoted laws and decrees doing for you now Umbitch,** Hermione couldn't help a triumphant smirk even as she balked at the foul language of her internal monologue; though if anyone had earned the title of bitch it was surely Delores Umbridge.

"Hermy," Grawp e _xclaimed happily upon seeing the young Gryffindor witch walk into the clearing._

 _Hermione smiled happily up at her innocent, child-like giant friend, "Hello Grawp."_

 _"Hermy," He repeated in ecstasy, prepared to jump for joy despite warnings of his size and the danger of falling trees he always received at her cheerful greeting… But his blue eyes darkened as he saw something, a wand poking into his Hermy's Back. "Hermy hurt," he fretted as he bent down his enormous form to her._

 _"No, no Grawp I'm fine," She promised sincerely as she smiled at him._

 _But the giant would here none of it, a large frown marred his gruff face as he reached for the pink clad demon. Umbridge was positively shaking and speechless with fright as Grawp gripped her, lifting her up to his eye level to bellow, "Why you hurt Hermy?"_

 _"Grawp you must put her down," Hermione said in her most demanding, parental voice, one reserved almost specifically for her giant friend._

 _Grawp responded in a petulant frown, glaring down at the ministry magnate as he simply stated, "Hurt Hermy."_

 _"Yes Grawp, but look, you saved me, I'm alright now. Revenge is wrong Grawp and you mustn't hurt her, please put her down," Hermione instructed with a fond maternal smile but a strict, instructive set to her eyes._

 _The giant frowned in thought before nodding his understanding, though he seemed to have second thoughts as he shook his head furiously and gripped the toad woman tighter. "Hurt Hermy. Hermy say hurt is wrong. Hermy say, 'say sorry when you is wrong'. Must say sorry," he argued._

 _Hermione smiled at Grawp as the women he held hostage continued her horrified shaking, she was undeniably proud of his logical argument and the obvious retention it shown of what she sought to teach him. "You're right Grawp, Professor Umbridge should say sorry, but you see Professor Umbridge is a bad women, she does not understand or show remorse like we do; though this does not mean that we can keep her prisoner, that is wrong too. Now please, put her down."_

 _Grawp lowered the gaping and tearful headmistress to the forest floor, she looked as though she had soiled her bubblegum-pink maxi skirt in fearful incontinence but was quick to attempt to retain her dignity through arrogant rebuke, "How dare you allow that, that_ _ **thing,**_ _touch your headmistress I'll have you for this dearie. You'll never…" Umbridge cut herself off with an earsplitting, bloodcurdling scream as an arrow from the bow of a skilled centaur marksmen whistled past her ear._

 _A palomino centaur whom seemed to be the leader of the tribe of half men, half horses stepped forward. "We require words with you, undersecretary Umbridge, on laws you saw fit to pass on behalf of the Centaur Nation, you'll be coming with us."_

 _"I refused to be ordered around by a load of half-breeds, I…" Umbridge's rebuttal was left unheard as the palomino leader once again spoke his commands._

 _"How unfortunate then, mam, that you have no choice. You_ _ **will**_ _be answering our questions, and you_ _ **will**_ _be coming with us." With that the centaur signaled two of his men forward to bare her weight between them and they carried her deeper into the forest, a choir of whooping centaurs on their tails._

 _Hermione had stood in silent shock during the whole exchange, surprised by the violent display of the usually docile, fortunetelling centaurs. She stared with glazed eyes into the forest, at the backs of the retreating centaurs. Her head swiveled with a snap in the direction of a foot stomping for attention, it was the palomino centaur that stared back at her as she turned to face him. "I hope you understand Miss Granger, we do not wish to cause you any trouble but that women has been interfering with the centaurs' livelihood for entirely too long."_

 _A quiet Hermione managed a slight nod and a small, accepting smile through her persisting astonishment._

 _The centaur leader nodded at her before he departed from her presence, "The stars speak highly of you Miss Granger; you're on a destined path, arduous, though filled with love. Believe in your fated one Miss Granger. May we meet again someday, I wish you a safe today, bright tomorrow and an abundance of happy yesterdays."_

 _With those words of departure he left behind a Hermione stricken by confusion as she stared aimlessly into the distance. What did he mean by an abundance of happy yesterdays? Yesterday already happened, what did the past have to do with her supposed destiny? And what on earth was a 'fated one?' Hermione shook her muddled head clear, she was never one to believe in divination, even from the respected mouths of the centaur astrologists, especially when she had friends to get to and a very important man to save; though her face still maintained a befuddled sheen as she wondered her way back to the forest's start._

 _Immense relief, that's all Hermione could communicate in the long suffering sigh that she loosened upon seeing Harry, Ron and her D.A. friends waiting for her at the forests edge. This taking it as she went plan wasn't really Hermione's cup of tea -though you'd think she'd be used to it with the boy- who-lived-to-be-disorganized as her best friend, Harry Potter was the king of going in halfcocked- so seeing that the freeing of the group from the inquisitorial squads reptilian clutches wasn't something else she'd have to configure on this escapade was a bittersweet respite._

 _"You guys are alright," She exclaimed as she threw herself at her messy haired best friend, "I was so worried."_

 _"You were worried? We're not the ones who wondered off alone into the forest with the she-beast, Malfoy and his snakes have nothing on the toad wonder," Ron joked._

 _"Yeah, well unsurprisingly we aren't the only ones who have a problem with Umbridge," Hermione stated ominously._

 _"Gwap? I reckon he was livid after seeing his Hermy being threatened," Harry wagered._

 _"Oh yes, certainly, but it was the centaurs that really took issue," Hermione confirmed._

 _"The centaurs," Ginny voiced in askance._

 _Hermione turned to address the whole of the group, "Yes, they took offence to some of her policies on 'the half-breed lifestyle," Hermione explained, though not without much cheeky, discordant eye rolling at her prejudice._

 _"Centaurs give me the heebie-jeebies," Neville supplied._

 _"Yeah they're always telling me about my, 'destiny' and how mars shines bright on me or something," Harry agreed._

 _"Mmm, Centaurs are great seers guided by the stars. I wonder if they ever have problems with nargles trying to mislead them," Luna explained in her dreamy voice._

 _Hermione was quick to change the topic, Luna's reveries were hitting to close to home as she unnervingly remembered the Centaurs prophetic musings to her. "Yeah okay, any plans on how to get into the ministry unwelcomed to rescue a wanted fugitive that sports a kiss on sight order without getting caught and arrested by the delusional ministerial populace?"_

 _"I have one, but you're not going to like it 'Mione," Harry supplied._

 _Hermione sighed in weary anticipation, "What is it Harry?"_

 _"Thestrals," was his simple, one word response._

 _"Harry, I'm terrified of heights, I won't even ride a broom, and you expect me to fly all the way to the ministry on a winged horse I won't even be able to see," Hermione demanded with a terrified glint in her eyes._

 _Harry only shrugged, sending her a sheepish grin in response._

 _"Any better ideas," Hermione begged of her friends. When all she received in reply were a few head shakes and sympathetic smiles Hermione raised her eyes to the heavens in resigned acceptance, "I guess trespass by death Pegasus' it is then."_

 _"You really can't see them," Neville gulped, remembering his far from stellar first flying lesson_

 _"Only if you've seen someone die," Harry answered._

 _"Um, I don't want to sound rude, I know it's a sensitive subject, but uh, who here has seen someone die," Neville whispered, closing his eyes as if expecting to be slapped._

 _Luna was the one to answer in her normal, if not sorrowful, wistful voice, "When I was seven, the stars called Mother home, I held her hand as she closed her eyes the final time and the wackspurts wept for her demise."_

 _Neville hugged her tight, "I'm so sorry Luna."_

 _"Whatever for? Mom is free amongst the crumpled horn snorkacks now, I miss her but we'll be together again," Luna smiled languorously at him._

 _"Luna?" Neville called to her with a questioning intonation._

 _"Yes, Neville," Luna asked vaguely._

 _"I'm riding with you," the affirmation was made a plea by the desperate look in his eye._

 _"That would be agreeable Neville," Luna smiled._

 _Ronald spoke up in his typical abrupt manner at this point, "Excellent, well let's move along then. It's time to get going, we have flying death ponies to catch and fugitive dogfathers to save."_

 _"Dogfathers?" Neville questioned confusedly._

 _"I'll explain later, but Ron's right it's time to get going before it's too late," Harry responded._

 _"Alright, lead the way Bon Jovi," Hermione sighed in enduring acquiescence._

 _"Bon Jovi," Harry asked._

 _"Steal horse riding cowboy?" Hermione questioned._

 _Harry just shook his head with a bewildered look._

 _"Wanted dead or alive," She tried again._

 _"Nuh uh," Harry replied._

 _"You've just made me seriously question our friendship Harry, have you no musical taste?" Hermione said as she pantomimed her horror with a shocked hand over her heart. "I never thought I'd be desperate to go flying but I can't even look at you right now Harry James Potter, let's go." Hermione gave a mockery of a haughty huff as she turned on the heel of her foot to walk away, nose lofted snootily skyward._

 _Harry rolled his eyes but jogged to catch up with her, leading the way to the thestral encampment by Hagrid's pumpkin patch. "Here's your wand by the way," he said as he slipped the nine and three quarter's inch stick of Vinewood into her palm._

 _Hermione beamed as she felt the familiar tingle of the unicorn's hair core mingle with the power of her own. She threw herself into Harry's arms for a second time in almost as many minutes, "Thank you so much, I feel so vulnerable and useless without it!"_

 _Harry smiled as he held her fast, "So I take it all is forgiven for the whole Bon Jovi thing?"  
_

 _"Oh no, you're still skating on very thin ice mister," Hermione affirmed._

 _Harry huffed in false petulance at her playful banter, "Whatever."_

 _"Now let's get on with it, we have a marauder to maraud," Hermione stated with much exaggerated bravado._

 _"You've been waiting forever to say that haven't you," Harry asked her._

 _"Oh you have no idea, since we first met Sirius," she confirmed before amending, "Well maybe not in the first hour with the whole mass murdering rat and time travel dementor rescue, but you know after that definitely."_

 _"You're a mess," Harry smirked._

 _"Yeah and you, love me for it honorary brother dear," Hermione acknowledged. "Now mount up your steal pony Bon Jovi, we have a fugitive to save and while some may prefer he be dead we are undoubtedly aiming for alive so you best be getting along cowboy. And oh yeah, I'm riding with you, if you thought I was going off alone on an invisible horse you were operating under illusions of grandeur."_

 _"Shut up and get on the thestral 'Mione," Harry grinned as he reached down to help her on to his winged horse._

 _"You got it cowboy," she curtsied._

 _Harry rolled his eyes as he cast a point me spell to lead them to the ministry, "alright guys follow me," he called back to the group, and, though Hermione had been joking around with her best friend moments prior, anxiety filled her as they took to the skies. It wasn't the thought of flying that worried her so, not a single thought was spared for her most hated method of travel as all she saw in her mind's eye was a beaten down battered Sirius black whose grey eyes bored into hers as he told her she was too late._

Thanks for reading my words, no matter how crazy, I love you so much for that. I'll try to have update up for y'all again soon, I promise. Please review, they are the air I breathe and I need to breathe to write so no pressure, Jk lol, only review if you want to; though I do really appreciate them.

All my love,

~3lw


	11. Chapter 10: Depression Part 6

**AN:** So it's here, one of the many chapters that make me laugh, and cry, and rage at the cruelty of the world I hope you like it as much as one can like something filled with such sadness. One last part of the Depression chapters after this, then were moving on to the next stage of grief, the upward swing, don't worry this story doesn't end with just the seven stages of grief, I've got plans… Big plans!

 **Disclaimer:** I'm so broke I can't afford to own anything, I seriously don't even know how I pay for my car and insurance, it has to be actual magic, or maybe god.

 **Warning:** I still have no beta and no real desire to proof read on my own, me is lazy sometimes.

Chapter 10 Depression part 6: The Petite Lionne and the Pretty Vacant

 _They had arrived to a silent ministry main entry, the badges reading their name and the purpose behind their presence, rescue mission, shinning dimly in the fire-lit lobby. Gently striding through the sparsely lighted foyer, the group opened the gilded golden elevator grate, entering the magic imbibed machine for an ominous journey down to forebodingly titled Department of Mysteries._

 _The doors open to a long stone hallway, periodically lit by the faint glow emanating from the mounted blue flames of torch light along the dark grey, slate walls. Hermione is oblivious to the methodical, honeyed voice of a prerecorded ministry witch announcing their arrival as she shakily steeps out of the elevator doors, being focused so soundly on the near threatening atmosphere of the anteroom added to the overall blaring warning tones of the night making it near impossible to register._

 _Following a few steps behind their leader by proxy, Harry, the group enter an immense circular room laden with doors. Doors, they soon realized, that rearranged themselves upon opening. The contents of the room behind the first opened yielded no recognizance in Harry of his earlier vison, holding only odd tankards filled with the odder contents of tentacled brains, which were ignored as it was resealed; Hermione stepping forward to find a quick solution to their door resorting problem as she etched a large, burning 'X' into the next identical black wooden door attempted prior to it's opening. This process was continued repetitively until they opened a door onto a scene familiar to Harry, a sprawling room lined with floor to ceiling shelves all containing strange glass orbs some dull and others emitting a swirling blue glow coming from a peculiar smoke contained within._

 _The group stepped into the seemingly endless room and began a progressive march up and down the rows of sweeping shelves together, noticing that under the bizarre glass spheres were golden plagues containing names, dates and locations._

 _"Look Harry, this one's got your name on it," Ginny acknowledged as she waved the bespectacled boy over._

 _"What is this place," Harry wondered aloud as he took the glowing glass ball indicated from its holder._

 _Hermione fought the urge the ominous place gave her to whisper as she answered, "It's the Hall of Prophecy, I read about it after Harry told us of his vision with Mr. Weasley and Voldemort's snake Nagini; it's a subdivision of the Department of Mysteries and contains all_ _ **true**_ _prophecies ever delivered. I don't put much stock into divination, as you all_ _ **well**_ _know, but to be considered a true prophecy one must deliver it from a trance like state in front of a witness, speaking of a separate living subject; they are given in a wailing voice that is not typical of the deliverers own as it is thought they are used as conduits for the great, original seer Delphi, them being her chosen as she speaks through them of the foreseen future. The dimmed orbs are those prophecies that have already reached fruition, hundreds of prophecies may be delivered daily, the majority being insignificant and, as indicated by the mostly radiant azure prophetic orbs,_ _ **not**_ _culminating in a realized divine proclamation."_

 _Hermione strode forward between Ginny and Harry to observe the golden plague before them, "According to the plague, that prophecy," she pointed to the glowing, cerulean glass ball in Harry's hand as she continued her explanation, "was delivered at the Hogshead inn by professor Trelawney, surprisingly enough, with professor Dumbledore bearing witness. The prophecy, which has not seen completion, is pertaining to Harry having some kind of interaction with Tom Riddle Jr., whom we know to be Voldemort."_

 _Before Ron, or any other for that matter, had the chance to joke of her predictable knowledge or book regurgitation, the group were made aware of the presence that was previously encroaching on them. "The Mudblood dare speak the Dark Lord's name," a black robed women howled in deranged anger, her precarious head of frizzed waves being an apt depiction of her madder than a hatter state of mind as she stared Hermione down. The wack-a-doo could be only one of the two House Black Azkaban escapee, the_ _ **rightfully**_ _imprisoned Bellatrix Lestrange; a marital surname that could only be deemed fitting to the insane cousin of the wrongfully convicted Sirius, what with the resemblance of its articulation to the combined words 'the strange.'_

 _Before Harry could react to the encircling Death Eaters Hermione replies, "Yes, she dares. And she would dare again if she ever had to speak of the vile filth that is your master again, Tommy boy thinks he's so special now that he has his repugnant snake face of his resurrected, but wouldn't you know the only things more disgusting then he are the ghastly souls that choose to so adoringly follow him."_

 _Bellatrix was in a sputtering steaming rage until she mustered the control to enunciate, "The only ghastly or filthy thing here is you little Mudblood. Avada Kedavra!"_

 _Hermione ducked the grisly green smoke jet of the killing curse and it shattered the glass prophecy behind her with a bang. Hermione glared at the cackling witch as she raised her wand in retaliation, any spell or proclamation on her lips was cut short, however, by the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy._

 _"Now, now Bella. Let the Mudblood be, insolent though she is, no one has to be hurt here tonight." The elder Malfoy turned to address Harry, "We've come for only one thing Potter. Your Mudblood sidekick was right about the prophecy boy, hand it over and you're all free to go; nary a hair need be scathed on either yours, nor your belligerent little friends' heads," he sneered as his gaze swept over Hermione._

 _Nonverbal communication was essential to the execution of Harry's upcoming plan. Seeing the way the prophesizing spheres exploded at Bellatrix's Hermione bound spell gave him an idea; thankfully his best friends understood his cues and thought processes well enough to communicate it through whispers, which were conveyed as inconspicuously as someone like Ron could manage, to the others. The group silently and as unobtrusively as possible drew their wands behind him as Harry raised his own at the sycophantic group, "Well you see, if good old Moldy Voldy wants it, we certainly can't let him near it! So you see how that could be a problem," Harry declared grandiosely. The young wizard closed his fist in signalization as he spun his wand towards the multitudinous walls of shelved prophesies…_

 _"Bombarada," six voices of Dumbledore's Army screamed the blasting curse in unison._

 _Absolute mayhem ensued as glass shattered, wood splintered, and shelves tumbled like dominos, thus allowing the group that would come to be known as the Ministry Six to make their escape. Fleeing in dispersed directions, the group was alienated into randomized subgroups. They could here cackling and taunts behind them as the Death Eaters began their approach. "Sorry Bella, I get the pretty little Mudblood," Hermione heard one shout, and her steps became just that bit quicker and surer as she continued her bolting journey to attempted freedom; though the only thing she could seem to think of as her feet continued their bounding beat was,_ _ **Thank God Sirius isn't actually here.**_

 _Hermione wound up absconding through a door to find herself in an area predominated by familiar necklace chained hourglasses alongside Harry and Neville. Her breath was heavy as she leant tiredly forward, placing her hands on her knees; but her surging adrenaline made recovery quick as she raised her wand to the black door, identical to the ones they'd come across earlier, too magically reinforce any of its locking mechanisms. Turning to Harry and Neville behind her she mutters, "I don't know how long those basic blockers will hold against their dark magic, but I've done all I can for now. There are more advanced barring and locking spells I could perform but they take time and energy we don't have to spare, I'm sorry guys."_

 _"'Mione, shut up," Harry replied. Hermione was indignant and huffed her displeasure, but before she could argue he continued. "What I mean by that is, you've bought us a few minutes to think and it doesn't matter how many those minutes are because they're minutes we didn't have before. Besides, a minute for you to think on your own is like an hour of library time to anyone else."_

 _Hermione smiled gratefully at Harry as she bore into him with a tight embrace, "Oh Harry, you're such a sweet little cheese ball and I absolutely adore it; I love you my honorary brother dear."_

 _"Jeez Hermione, and you call me the cheese ball," he smiled in return as he held her snugly against him._

 _Hermione playfully, hit Harry on the arm in retaliation; he only rolled his eyes as he said, "You know I love you too 'Mione."_

 _"Yeah, yeah Bon-Bon, I know," Hermione answered, tiptoeing up to ruffle his hair._

 _"Bon-Bon," he probed._

 _"Yes, it's more fitting then calling you Bon Jovi like I did earlier. You're much too sweet, more like a chocolate Bon-Bon, to be named like a tough rock-n-roller," She grinned facetiously._

 _"Whatever," Harry pouted in a façade of petulance._

 _"Buck up bub, we've got Death Eaters to Annihilate," Hermione chastened._

 _"Speaking of," Neville reluctantly_ _ **attempted**_ _to interrupt._

 _Though the jovially bickering duo were ignorant, as usual, to his words and mounting distress, just as they were to the gentle thuds of magical impacts happening on the door that served as the only barrier between them and Voldemort's best forces. "Annihilate," Harry queried, "You just had to get all fancy on us, didn't you? You just couldn't have gone with something generic like beat-up or something of the like?"_

 _"Guys," Neville's voice went unnoticed._

 _"Yes Harry, you know I'm not the 'generic' type, not that there's anything wrong with that though. Besides, my word choice is far from superfluous, since we are going to do far more then 'beat them up,'" she affirms, pantomiming air quotes. "We're going to make them weep, to their mummies if they can, but surely to at least Voldemort, and beseech them their protection and mercy."_

 _"Wow, easy their Killer," Harry jested._

 _"Guys," Neville remained unheard._

 _"Killer? Can't you think of_ _ **anything**_ _more original," Hermione critiqued with a pouted lip._

 _"Nope, Killer fits," Harry asserts, "I guess you can call me one of those 'generic types.' Unless you'd prefer oo7?" Hermione sniffed and shook her head at his mocking. "Perhaps Rambo then? Maybe Rambette?"_

 _Hermione snorted "Rambette? Seriously?"_

 _"Guys," Neville tried once more, his tone mounting in distress and volume._

 _He was unknowingly ignored once again as Harry continued, "Now you know Sirius would have some kind of name related humor to spill about that if he were really here."_

 _Hermione giggled, "I know I try to avoid saying anything remotely related to the word serious anymore because I keep expecting him to hop around a corner saying, 'Who? Me?'"_

 _Harry already had his mouth open to respond when Neville's screaming voice finally caught their attention, "Guys."_

 _"Yes Neville," they responded in harmonious, oblivious innocence._

 _"You know that time Hermione bought us," Neville spoke with a questioning intonation over the banging at the door, now made obvious by the emphasizing pause in his speech. "Well I think that time's up now. The Death Eaters' found us."_

 _With that proclamation the wooden door blew open in a swinging, crashing, splintering boom, secreting three death eaters from its arboreal wake. "Well, yes I suppose they have," Hermione breathlessly agreed._

 _"Gee, you don't say," Harry rolled his eyes._

 _"Hush it Potter, I'm trying to invent for us some way out of this mess we've made," Hermione pouted in reprimand._

 _"My apologies Mrs. Edison, please allow your cartoon lightbulb of discovery and clarification to ignite," he bowed towards her._

 _"Oh, stop your mocking you…"_

 _Hermione's retaliation was cut short as Neville shrieked at them once more, "Guys, now isn't the time for your silly play at bickering! Merlin I know you consider yourselves as siblings but you're ten times worse than such! DEATH EATERS, DUEL, KILLING CURSE, TORTURE…_ _ **DEATH EATERS**_ _! Need I say more?"_

 _"Right, sorry Nev," Harry said as Hermione smiled at him in sheepish regret._

 _"Its fine, now Death Eaters," Neville directed with a confident flourish that the other two were unused to seeing from the fumblingly nervous Gryffindor._

 _"Right, those guys," Harry smirked in pre-battle glee._

 _The Death Eaters whom had remained silent up to that point chuckle darkly, "That was quite the show little lions," an emaciated looking, towering figure with cobalt eyes and a greying, tatty head of greasy brown tresses spoke as he stepped forward in an infringement of the young groups personal space. "Distraction is quite the interesting combative method," he mused as he moved further in Hermione's direction. "We could've killed you multiple times I suppose, but your blasé attitude and spirited bantering had us much to amused. Yes killing you would spoil the loads of fun we plan to have amidst such rebellious Gryffindorks; specifically I with you, ma petite lionne," He sneered in a rancid slash of blackening teeth as he casually flicked a voluminous chestnut curl off the young witches' shoulder with tip of his time abused wand._

 _Hermione growled in a wrinkled nose display of disgust, "Oh but, how I love fun please allow me to have mine first," she said with a pretty, bantam pout of imploration as she raised her own Vinewood weapon to between the sickening man's eyes downing him with a silent red stunner._

 _Of course all hell broke loose at Hermione offensive, "Get down," Harry screamed at her as a jet of deathly green light soared in her direction from the wand point of another haggard male Death Eater. She had just ducked beneath the safety of a cluttered desk when the electrifying green beam scorched the wall behind her. Harry fired spells in all directions hoping to fell the assaulting Death Eater's quickly, before someone inevitably got hurt. A Death Eater was clipped in the shoulder by a hurled Stupefy, though the entire room was showered in a dangerous array of jagged glass shards as the same spell, shot wide right by Neville, demolished a display cabinet._

 _An ascending Hermione quickly plunged herself back beneath her desk as a few crystalline slivers flew her way. A cacophony of noise ensued as Hermione dodged the impinging glassed ruins, tinkling crashes, bangs and thumps were her lone company as she sheltered herself against the debris. She was rapid in her second rising but found only the sight of a gawking mouthed Neville before two collapsed Death Eaters -a few scrapes on his checks the only visible signs of personal damages- and a table shielded Harry to be standing in the range of her wand; which was, of course, still held aloft. "Thank Merlin for tables," Harry rejoiced as he stepped out from behind the wooded barrier, now deeply embedded with the indiscriminately implanted, perilous glass projectiles. "Good work Neville," he congratulated, that continuance being the only explanation Hermione would receive for the perplexing scene as the raven haired wizard moved for the exit; they had chaos divided friends to locate after all, the separation was not faring well on any of their consciences._

 _~o~O~o~_

 _The atmosphere was eerie as they gallivanted amid the meagerly lighted halls and sub-rooms; Hermione murmured soft, suppliant prayers as she absentmindedly ran across the stone pathways that the disjointed members of the group would be found together and, most importantly, unharmed._

 _A scuffling ahead caught the searching band's attention as they burst into the antechamber from whence it came. The sight that found them was an outlandish one, Ginny was hushing Ron pleadingly as Luna danced around them with a warbling, incoherent tune on her lips. At Hermione's astonished 'O' of lips, Harry's cocked brow, and Neville's still untainted previous expression of shock Ginny smirked happily and explained, "She's wrackspurt warding again. Genius Flamel junior over here thought it a marvelous idea to enchant accio brain when we were fighting off some of those old toadies in that weird room we came across earlier, of course a slew of those tentacle covered things attached themselves to him like spell-o-glue, took forever to get them off too, and now he's stumbling around giggling like one of those drunken muggle sailors," the redhead rolled her eyes. "Luckily it also took care of the one Death Eater left standing there, some of the oozy junk the brains were in got all over one of the Lestrange brothers, I don't know which, and he passed out; but now his head keeps changing into that of a baby and its really fucking creepy. Luna and I took care of the other three though," she exclaimed. "She petrified two and I got Malfoy with a bat boogey hex, it was so… Ahhff!"_

 _Hermione's bone crushing hug silenced her as she enveloped her in her anxious arms, "I'm so glad you're all alright." Hermione descended upon Luna next, "you did so awesomely guys!" The babbling witch took Ron's face in her hands as she avowed, "You'll be okay Ron, I promise."_

 _"Ur purrtty," the dazed boy murmured._

 _"Yeah, pretty vacant," Hermione murmured, smiling at the Sex Pistols reference Sirius would've hugged her for._

 _A bemused Hermione flushed as Ginny spoke again, "Yes Hermione's absolutely smashing," the Weasley girl concurred, much to the witch in question's deepening blush, "But we already knew this Ronald; and we have important shite to deal with so get your arse back on the proverbial broomstick so we can get crackin'!"_

 _"Honestly Gin, language," a still rosy cheeked Hermione scolded._

 _Harry interrupted what was surely a burgeoning squabble as he curiously spoke, "Say, what's that?" He quizzed as he indicated a peculiar stone archway sat in the center of the circular room on a raised dais._

 _Hermione took a broader, clinical look around the room as she tried to designate its purpose; it was much like a stadium or coliseum, with its raised stone bleacher seating in a circular shape around a central, obviously important focal point- that being the elevated stone archway. She turned a sharper eye upon the arched rock to see a series of runes inscribed along it, runes that spoke of passing through and the gate of the dead. Waves of ill-omened authority seeped from the rippling grey air between the arch's edges and it seemed almost as if a curtain or veil hung from the fog within it, one that did not open to the other side of the chamber. She'd never seen anything resembling such an archway in any book or passage she read in the past, and it was the foreboding sensations the behemoth stoned structure unwaveringly radiated that had her reaching out to inhibit Luna as she dreamily paced increasingly closer to it._

 _"Luna, please don't," she dictated with an entreating tone. "There's something not right here."_

 _The blonde girl smiled vaguely as she looked Hermione blankly in the eye, "I hear my mother she's calling to me."_

 _Harry started forward as well, "I hear it too, someone calling… But I don't think I hear your mother, sorry Luna."_

 _The languorously tempered blonde nodded sedately, with the same vague smile of response._

 _"Harry really," Hermione warned as she reached out, tightly grasping his arm, "Keep away from it, something's extremely wrong with that arch, it's covered in runes about sacrifice and our fateful demise or some rubbish; I'd need time to fully transcribe them but either way it's not good."_

 _"Listen to Hermione guys; I don't think its simple coincidence that has the arch beckoning to the same two amongst that have borne witness to death and can see the thestrals, somethings undeniably fishy with this thing," Ginny speaks up in agreeance as she sweeps her forearm in the direction of the harrowing arch._

 _The preoccupied bunch were invaded by the recuperated Death Eaters, "Ah, so you've found your way to the Death Chamber I see," The returned Lucius Malfoy inferred. "That treacherous thing you blundering fools are ogling is called the Veil, it serves as an access point amongst this world and the next. The knowledge obtained on it, its properties, and its effect on the living are few, is very limited and its intricacies very mysterious. I'd step away if I were you gang, lest you hand over the prophecy we may be liable to send you right through, purely for experimental and discovering purposes of course."_

 _"Of course," Harry snorted. "There's no way old Moldy Warts is getting this thing though," Harry denied them, clawing the sapphire tinged prophetic orbs up high so it played centerfield to everyone's vision._

 _"Have it your way then Potter…" Malfoy sneered, "Crucio!"_

 _The emerald eyed, last hope of the wizarding world ducked the approaching wave of agonizing, blood red magic. "Expelliarmus," he volleyed._

 _The rest of the Ministry six held their wands aloft, outstretched at the wicked clan of Voldemort serving bootlickers. "Bombarda maxima," Hermione shouted, aiming the augmented blasting curse at the curved, slatestone wall behind the crew of malicious aggressors. Colossal chunks of greyish rock exploded outward, dousing the unprepared Death Eaters in a barrage dusty debris._

 _The pallid man Hermione floored in their first altercation came after her with a vengeance, shaking free of the showering wreckage that had temporarily downed a few of the other attacking munchers. They exchanged brilliant, punishing waves of magical power as spell after spell was lobbed between them. Hermione hardly noticed the arrival of the order's core members as they descended in magnificent streams of triumphant, spell-spitting glory that only true liberators of the light could wield; so intense was her battle that she perhaps mightn't have perceived their manifestation at all had it not been for her patentable, preternatural Sirius sensor. Not sight, nor sound, nor physical touch, nor even his delectable smell were necessitated in her detection, an entrenched, subconscious, almost primal instinct seemed to_ _ **feel**_ _his presence before any other sense had the chance to realize it. Her momentary joy- which rapidly faded to near overwhelming apprehension as she swiftly grasped the complex jeopardy of the situation the endearingly carless man was just cavalierly thrusting himself into, and seemingly without a second's thought spared for his own wellbeing in hesitation- was short lived as she was absorbed into her combative with the Death Eater she discerned to be Azkabanian fugitive Antonin Dolohov. Her brief instantaneous distraction nearly cost her dearly as milliseconds passed between the raising of her shield and her attacker's spell making impact, wisps of magical energy broke through and her twirling dodges had her wishing for her uptake of the juvenile ballet lessons her parents had proffered in her teetering toddler years._

 _She didn't have time to register that the deafening crash ringing through the chamber was Harry's dropping and subsequent shattering of the spherical glass prophecy, her fight was too great a diversion. She didn't here Neville's whimpering yelps under the unforgiving magical streams of Bellatrix's cruciatus, her own protection was too draining of her focus. But she did just barely notice the sound of Sirius shouting, "Not my godson Mal_ _ **toy,**_ _" as he dashed to Harry's protection. The dull thud of an unconscious body's hitting the ground signaled his dominance over the elder Malfoy and spurred Hermione on as she finally took the upper hand in her own duel._

 _Finally off the defensive, stunner after silent stunner was launched Dolohov's way, he waved them away with an irking simplicity, signaling recognition Hermione's that he was merely toying with her. Huffing in frustration, she hastened her arduous bout of offensive spells and the repulsively cruel man had the gall to_ _ **laugh,**_ _a full echoing belly laugh –not that the starvation withered man had much of one._

 _Hermione growled, "Stop messing about Antonin_ _ **Dull**_ _ohov."_

 _The target of her sardonic mocking jeered, "You dare besmirch a pureblood man's given name, Mudblood whore," He seethed._

 _Anything but fancy, evasive footwork and repetitive, safeguarding protegos were futile for Hermione as all amusement left the Death Eaters face and he attacked with the renewed vigor of an enraged beast; he certainly was holding nothing back now, this undeniably was_ _ **not**_ _a game of cat and mouse to the riled man any longer…_

 _But vexation caused distraction, which could lead to mistakes, so Hermione kept throwing her provocations. "Aw come on and lighten up Dully Dolly, I was only teasing."_

 _"Silence wench, I am no toy for you to play with ma petite lionne," Dolohov warned._

 _"I am nobodies anything so I'll stop playing coy when you stop treating me as such," Hermione pouted, batting her eyes at him as she continued her shielded dance around his spells._

 _"Oh but you see my sweet harlot, you_ _ **will**_ _belong to someone when all is said and done with this war, just as all the frustratingly, unjustly beautiful Mudbloods will, and I fully intend for that someone to be me," he leered._

 _Hermione was chilled to the core by the dark look in his eyes as he made his solemn, foreshadowing vow, though she still managed a flicker of a condescending smile, "I think I'll pass thank you."_

 _"Don't worry ma lionne, I won't share you with any of the other scary old Death Eaters, only I will have you and I am the worst and most selfish type of man when it comes to my property," he contemptuously assured._

 _Hermione let the adrenaline amplified anger take control as she ripped into him, "I will belong to no one! Human beings are_ _ **not**_ _chattel to_ _ **anyone**_ _, no matter the 'purity' of their blood."_

 _Hermione was exhausting every ounce of her strength to continue their punishing exchange of strenuous magical beams, she had nothing left to give to their stint of heckling invectives. She could only frown in increasing frustration as he continued his taunts of, "you'll be mine mudblood; you'll be mine." She was eerily reminded of the Wicked Witch of the West's threatening declarations to Dorothy Gale of 'I'll get you, my pretty, and you're little dog too.'_

 _Though she was quite sure that the getters wanted the gotten for extremely differing reasons, she wondered in a brief moment of morbid amusement if Dolohov would allow her to keep Crookshanks as well._

 _She shook those thoughts as her focus narrowed on the offending Death Eater, she tried to ignore the convoluting environment that surrounded her impassioned, traumatic battle but Sirius' voice always made a habit of filtering its way into her consciousness. Right now she heard him deeply engaged in a duel of wits and magical fortitude with his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange; wits he certainly had over the crazy witch, and she could never discount the valiantly strong man's magical ability, but the witch was, again,_ _ **insane**_ _and not above underhanded tactics while the blunt, outspoken, passionate Sirius was._

 _"Come on Bella, is that the best you've got? A pretty green light show," Sirius goaded as his own wand flared with energy. She spared a seconds glance in his direction and gasped, Bellatrix was luring Sirius into a blind trap; what did Sirius know of the mystical death veil he was erring progressively closer to in their picturesque battle for supremacy? Did he even know of his approach? Did the loveable fool even think the hulking structure posed any risk to him? The combination of Dolohov's domineering derisions and Sirius current situation of exponentially growing danger were verging on overwhelming to the distressed Hermione. Squealing an earsplitting, "scilencio," at Dolohov she made a consecrating vow to him, herself, and the world, "I'll never belong to you! I'll never be yours, I swear it," overcome tears streamed from her whiskey tinged eyes as she glared into the Death eaters own dark pools of azure._

 _He sneered at her but no further negatively avowing hissings came from his blocked vocal cords as she spared another quick glance at Sirius. He was so vibrant, more so than she'd ever seen him, even over Christmas with his utterly adored godson Harry and the bunch. He was where he belonged, free, avenging his loved ones, and fighting for the downtrodden and weary. His luscious ebon waves were flowing as he bounded through the room sending spell after spell at the cruel-spirited, aversive Death Eaters. Grey eyes, comparative to a gorgeous version of slate rock imbibed arctic slush, shined with a contagious form of joyous, invigorating energy. He was whole heartedly laughing as he unrelentingly fought his active duel and Hermione couldn't help but smile at this fact. That smile however was short lived, this man who was glowing with vitality continued in his circumventing footings that brought him all the closer to that cryptically looming 'veil.'_

 _She looked on in abject terror as a red curse from Bellatrix's crooked wand made contact with his powerful silver shield, her horrendous spell held just enough oomph to send him over the edge of the unknown across the threshold of the mystic arch. As he passed through the smoggy grey wisps of energy between its pillars he floated for all of an instant, as if suspended in some strange liquid straight from the caldron of one of those cackling witches in a horrid muggle movie that guessed at the supernatural, before disappearing entirely. They had been looking into each other's eyes as he disappeared from her view, she dropped to a blazingly painful curse from the undeterred, silenced Dolohov simultaneous to that moment, a moment which was minuscule in time but huge in impact. The ache of the Death Eater's spell was unnoticeable in relation to the throbbing agony in her heart as she gathered her loss, the only thing comparable was the misery visible in Sirius' eyes as the last thing he saw was her falling with him._

 _As the amethyst flames sink harmlessly through the skin of her torso only to singe her insides she almost prays for death to take her in its eternal dark clutches, but instead makes a couple of earnest promises; an assurance to Sirius' spirit that she will overtake his quest to protect and guide his godson, and a vow to herself to avenge the man she'll forever love._

So… another chapter done. I cried, maybe you cried, but I actual felt true heart break writing this part and I know all about my plans for the future of this story and just know that all of mine always have happy endings. Who doesn't cry their eyes out when Sirius Black falls through the veil though, the first time I read the scene in the Order of the Phoenix might actual be one of the saddest moments I've suffered in my life, and believe me I've seen my fair share of sorrows. Anyway the stuff about true Prophecies was pulled out of my humongous booty so don't be all 'like inaccuracies, I hate you die 3lw, die!' I make this stuff up as I go and I kind of make JKR's world what it would be if it was actual mine as I oft dream it to me. I love you for reading this and I love reviews as much as I love pasta, which is a lot, so leaving one would be greatly appreciated; but I'm not going to pressure or bribe you, just know if you dp review I'm sending virtual hugs.

Love,

~3lw


	12. Chapter 11: Depression Part 7

**AN:** So this is the end of depression and Hermione's dreamscape! I'm sorry about the wait I've been working like crazy so, even though this chapter has been done for a little while, I've had zero chance to post it hope you enjoy the little surprise I have in store…

 **DISCLAIMER:** J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, obviously because if I did certain people wouldn't have died and certain couples wouldn't have happened, way to make the whole world want to collectively pull its hair out with some of that stuff J.K.

 **WARNING:** The only two things I suck at are life and proof reading

Chapter 11: Depression Part 7: A Wakeup Call

The reality of her replaying memories start to fade from Hermione's dreams as elements of the personal violation and fear affected by her new situation in the past, as well as the horror she felt in accompaniment to her woeful remembrances, turned them into awful nightmares.

 _Peter Pettigrew knelt over the prone and injured form of a post-torture Hermione Granger; he was again sending her unwillingly into the past but this time he was not begging her his own execution, nor for the mending of his and the orders own gaffes. Now he unremittingly criticized her and affirmed her inescapable failure in her mission. Now he wrenched the time turner onto her neck with a bruising, choking force. Now he pledged his reasoning for her temporal transportation to be his own form of divine intervention; for her foray into the past to serve only as a way to show her the repetitive deaths of her loved ones, deaths that she was much too lacking and powerless to stop._

 _"Your darling Harry's parent's, the Weasley kids' uncles and Mother Molly's brothers, such abundant, marvelous champions of the Phoenix you'll watch fall knowing you failed in any attempt to stop them," he maliciously smiled. "What greater punishment is there for you then having the continuous reminder of your own shortcomings? What grander pain is there then having a front row seat to your inescapable,_ _ **innumerous**_ _inadequacies as they blare achingly before your eyes, blatant in the form of insurmountable deaths and incalculable losses?"_

 _Hermione wanted to deny his edicts, to combat his negativity with devout declarations towards the protection of all that was wholesome and, quite simply,_ _ **good**_ _in the world. She wanted to be as she always tried to be, she wanted to be brave. To be the true pride of Gryffindor, with unwavering courage and an uncompromising quest for justice. She wanted to avow all of this to the spiteful little rat before her; but for some reason, whether it be due to her trashed and Bellatrix tortured vocal cords, or her already wavering self-assurance, she couldn't speak a word. She couldn't even breathe as he glared down at her with those hateful threats at the tip of his tongue._

 _Damning ruminations filled her mind as she stared helplessly into Pettigrew's beady, black rat eyes. She wondered how she could protect Harry, or Ron, or anyone for that matter when she couldn't even save herself from this weak and deranged man's mission. How could she do anything but watch -exactly like that overgrown gutter rat claimed she would- as her loved ones died before her, whether it be in the past, present or future? After all that's all she'd been able to do once already, it was all she had done as Sirius passed unsuspectingly through the veil. She had only screamed helplessly as his grey eyes bore into hers until the second he vanished._

 _She was so caught up in her own self pejoratives they would have prevented her from hearing Darth Rater's next round of hissed invectives had Sirius' name not been mentioned, anything related to that man was like a unbeatable force of Hermione magnetization. "He'll never want you, you know, Sirius. I saw it the moment you two met in the willow, you were smitten; a girl in head over heels for a man more than twice her age. I think I knew before even you did that you loved him, you couldn't have been more obvious had you been covered in written signage proclaiming it._

 _"But Sirius has always needed a strong women, someone to put up a fight and resist his charms, someone who could put him in his place and take care of herself. You're not that women, hell you're not remotely close to it, looking at you know you couldn't be_ _ **more**_ _pathetic_ _ **or**_ _farther from it. You're lying defenselessly on the floor, not moving, not speaking, not even trying to fight back, you're just hyperventilating in breathy, dismayed little gasps on the floor as I send you to your own personal hell._

 _"I despise you, and when you inevitably fail him again so will Sirius," the former marauder gleefully informed. "I can think no viler a creature then you, you arrogant, filthy blooded bitch, and there is none more deserving of this ultimate punishment. Enjoy the past skank, try not to follow this Sirius around like a lost puppy, canine attributes are more his wheelhouse so leave them to him you Mudblood whore."_

 _Her tears were unstoppable as they pooled in her glassy eyes; he was right, he may be a rat but he wasn't lying now. She was a repulsive catastrophe of a human being, she'd in this instant become a letdown to Harry, Sirius, the Order, her morals, and her heart and she was helpless to stop it. Weeping was her only outlet and her blubbering, sob riddled teardrops her only reprieve._

 _She was a failure…_

 _She was abhorrent…_

 _She was nothing…_

 _Hermione was in supreme agony as the time turner was spun again and again to bring her to the hell she was in now. She tried to tell herself that things had not gone this way, to remind herself that she was a fighter and she would continue to be so, whether that fight was in the past or otherwise. But no matter what she did or what she thought, she couldn't ignore the burn of the heating time turner as it scorched her breasts. She couldn't close her eyes to her swirling surroundings as she was thrown viciously to the disheartening, sorrowful past. She couldn't help but remember that she really was here, in this grief stricken time that was, in all likelihood, unchangeable._

 _She knew it wasn't real…_

 _She knew she wasn't back in the clutches of a knife wielding, wand waving, crazier than a loony tune wannabe Bellatrix Lestrange…_

 _But that didn't stop her panic nor the drumming pound of her racing heart. That didn't end her cowering nor soothe her wide-eyed, terror filled visage. Hermione was nothing short of horrified as her body remembered the excruciating pain the witch had caused; from the unbearable, never ending sensation of being under the cruciatus, to the physical and mental scaring of being branded with being branded with the foulest degradation for a witch or wizard of her kind, she was inconsolable._

 _"So you didn't have enough our first go around, huh my little muddy one?" The unhinged inner circle Death Eater cackled. "Decided you wanted to go back into my prime time to feel it all again."_

 _"You know I killed him once before, right before your very eyes, maybe now that you're here to watch I'll do it again," she pondered menacingly as she tapped the cheek beside her wickedly curled lips. "You couldn't save him then what makes you think now is any different, hmm?"_

 _Hermione frowned in confusion at the elder – if only slightly so considering her past traveling's- witch she couldn't mean…_

 _"Yes you poor, sweet idiot, I mean my_ _ **dear**_ _cousin Sirius," Bellatrix confirmed._

 _Hermione's mouth opened into a shocked 'o.' She had to be lying, Sirius hadn't died at this time originally and she_ _ **couldn't**_ _be the reason he did now; she would sooner kiss Voldemort's robe hem then put Sirius in harms way. But maybe she was a curse to him, maybe meeting her was what caused him to die in her timeline, and perhaps, with her being there now, she was causing Bellatrix to go after here in the past; no, she was definitely causing it, the mad witch had said so herself. Hermione wanted to beg, she wanted to kick and scream, and pray to god to make it untrue. She wanted not just to kill Bellatrix, but to abolish, down to the very essence, everything that she stood for…_

 _But mostly and simplistically, she wanted to die. If her presence was a danger to Sirius she merely wouldn't exist. She couldn't know of him and not be around him, even if he wasn't the same man now as her Sirius came to be, so her only cure was a swift death. He was worth it as he was now, in the past, and the man he would become was worth it a million times over. She wouldn't think of it as suicide, suicide was taking the easy way out, not fighting to get the help one needs and deserves, this was a rescue and a gift. This was her saving Sirius; giving him his freedom to hopefully find true happiness and love without her accursed interference. Maybe he wouldn't go to Azkaban this time around, maybe without her future existence in his life impeding him he'd be married, with a family to fight for him and believe his innocence as they insist upon a trial for its proof. Maybe he would raise Harry with a beautiful wife and a few gorgeous children of his own. Maybe Voldemort would never return._

 _"My poor cousin won't even know what hit him, perhaps I'll send him an agonizing, incurable poison to slowly ebb at his life force. Maybe I'll torture him as I have you, taking away all that he loves before finally and painfully ending him. So many choices make for such a pleasantly ripe selection of decisions, don't you think," Bellatrix's grin served only to magnify her nuttier then a fluffernutter sandwich persona and her heckling cackle as she sent a tormenting ray of the cruciatus curse at Hermione was no hindrance on the spells brutalizing power._

 _Hermione was so tired, tired of holding back her pain, tired of being strong, tired of saving her flowing tears for the privacy of the night's quiet darkness, just tired. So tremendously tired she couldn't think, couldn't breathe apart from screaming out at the magic triggered agony coursing unrelentingly through her savaged body. She couldn't keep it in this time, couldn't be resilient and war with the desire to vocalize her pain; what was the point in doing so anyway? There was no one now, no one to protect from her struggle or shield from the world's true spites, they were all gone. Everyone she cared for was stripped from her life as if they were the pelt of a slaughtered animal, an unwanted coating that prevented the hunter's access to the core of her being, the meat that they truly wanted to get at; taking away what made her recognizable as a breathing, feeling human being so they could skew her body into an indistinguishable mush of tortured, throbbing flesh. Her only substance was her suffering and her only aspiration was death._

 _She thought there could be no further anguish, no greater misery in her miniscule young life, until Bellatrix rubbed the metaphorical salt in her tender, gapping wounds. "What would wizarding life come to should your precious Potter never be born I wonder? There would be no killing pursuit on his messy haired head should he never even exist in the first place. He'd never defeat my lord, never impede his return, the Dark Lord would take his entitled place as king of the magical world as he rightfully deserves."_

 _Whatever was left of her warrior, Gryffindor spirit shinned through as she achingly sputtered at the nut barn escapee, "I'll never let you harm Harry, standing here threatening his very existence is futile when I can flay you where you stand faster then you're spidery lashed eyes can blink."_

 _The women's malevolent laugh was gut wrenchingly, heart poundingly infuriating as she glared down at Hermione, "Ah, but you are in position to intimidate me here mudblood. I am already victor, all that's left now is for me to choose how I wish to receive my spoils."_

 _This, Hermione knew, was an inescapable truth, she was trapped. She had no hope of escaping the dark witch's spindly, twisted clutches and no way to deliver on her menacing promises. She had nothing left to give of her worthless existence and no means left to fight her tormenting demise._

 _The spirit and moral undertakings that defined Hermione Granger were no more as Bellatrix achieved her bottom-line; the incontrovertible light was snuffed and the indubitably affectionate soul obliterated as the very crux of Hermione's being died._

 _She was meant to be a Phoenix, rising in brilliant flames through life's adversities, burning up only to be reborn and rejuvenated in a form more awesomely, and beautifully powerful than ever before. There was nothing of that Phoenix flame left burning in Hermione though, she was desecrated beyond her ability to rise from the ashes, her heart had succumbed to the flames; and there was nothing awe-inspiring about a rotted husk of a human being._

 _Hermione Granger was a Phoenix no longer._

 _"Hermione," She knew that voice echoing around her as she wept uselessly on the frigid floor of some unbreakable stone dungeon. She love she placed that voice had more value to her than that which she placed in her own life, though at this point such a feat was hardly challenging considering her own, self-appointed worthlessness. Though it couldn't really be him, such a fantastical thing as him coming to her couldn't happen in her insignificant life, so she ignored the calling._

 _"Hermione," his voice resonated again. She clutched her arms to her chest tightly, as if trying to hold in her sorely racing heart with the crossed limbs, but did not turn to face the direction of that familiar voice's location. "Hermione. Kitten please," it repeated, "look at me."_

 _She had never been able to deny this man a thing, her head turned from its position resting on the floor to her jails doors and she saw him there. Exactly who she never thought she'd see again, exactly who her encumbered mind had thought it to be. He was here with her, he was here_ _ **for**_ _her. And he wasn't just watching her from outside the barred gates of her prison he had come through them, placed himself in the dank cell to truly be beside her. She stood up with a renewed strength and speed she had not known she possessed to fling herself into his waiting arms._

 _"Sirius," she sobbed into his chest. Her Sirius, looking just as he did on the day he disappeared eternally into the veil. "Sirius how, how are you here? How can you not hate me?"_

 _"Death is a mysterious phenomenon… But as for hating you, why would I," the man wondered in shock._

 _"I'm the reason your dead," she cried, "were I you, I'd absolutely loathe me. I knew there was something wrong with those dreams Harry was having. I knew Voldemort was capable of any number of unconscionable methods to trick him. I should've realized you'd never put yourself in a position to be captured in the first place. I should've known there was no way for Voldemort and his munchers to get to you, especially considering you wouldn't dare leave your house lest it be for Harry's safety."_

 _"Or yours," Sirius reminded, but he went unheard by the witch as she continued her pattering spiel._

 _"Plus I saw you getting too close to the veil and didn't stop it, I know I could've if I was just a bit faster. I'm never fast enough Sirius. I'm never make it on time when making it really counts," Hermione tearfully ranted. "Everyone is going to die because of me, because I couldn't stop Pettigrew sending me here, and it all comes down to time. I'm in the past so everyone dies."_

 _"Hermione stop," Sirius demanded. "You are_ _ **not**_ _, responsible for my death or anyone else's and kitten this heartbreaking little mess that's wallowing on the floor in self-pity is not who I feel in love with. I know you're better, I know you can surpass this depression you've got yourself in," He promised devotedly, taking her shocked face into his large hands to lovingly cup her checks as he swiped away her rapidly falling drops._

 _"You love me," she dazedly whispered._

 _He sighed, "Yes, of course I love you kitten, more than I ever thought possible to love someone, but you're not you right now. You're not you when you won't get out of bed. You're not you when you're too trapped in your own minds torturing's to open your eyes to the world. Please Hermione wake up," he begged of her._

 _"I can't Sirius, I can't," she inconsolably exclaimed. "You're there Sirius, but then again you're not. You're there but as a young you, a you that hates me, a you that doesn't even know me but still manages to loathe my simple presence. I can't deal with a you that despises me so Sirius. Not when I still love you. Not when he has your eyes and rebellious spirit. Not when it's your cocky, smirking smile that shines from his face. He's you, but with only one difference, he can't stand me, and that's a you I can't take."_

 _Sirius silently held her through her declarations, he soothingly fingered her curls as she continuously whimpered, and when he spoke it was with a gentle tone in which he did not know himself capable. "Pet, I cannot imagine myself ever hating you, the very idea is preposterous; from the very second you met my eyes in the whomping willow I knew I could never do anything apart from adore you and that's all I've ever done since. Now I'm certain I know myself fairly well kitten, so believe me when I say any version of me would love you, considering how much of a prick I was in my younger years I'd say it's the very fact that I do love you that's making me hate you then. I was the eternal bachelor and, I know you hate foul language, but it has to be said that all I did in the past to which you've been sent is hunt for the next pussy to fuck or the next bitch to suck me off," He explained. As she winced and slapped his arm for his word choice Sirius apologized, "I'm sorry to be so crude but it's true._

 _"I found the very idea of commitment repulsive, I thought it was a James and Lily thing and I always would've if it weren't for you," He further clarified. "To me, monogamy wasn't in the human nature and I relished in the veritable female buffet of my single lifestyle; I can't imagine young me enjoying your interruption of his pleasurable existence."_

 _"Understatement of the century Sirius," Hermione affirmed with an eye roll._

 _"Yes, but it still reigns true that no me could ever hate you," Sirius averred._

 _Hermione's tears had ceased and she smiled peacefully up at the literal man of her dreams as she hummed her agreeance._

 _"Will you wake up now," Sirius beseeched her._

 _Her eyes were quick to well again as they bore into his, "I don't want to, I can't lose you again Sirius," she blubbered._

 _"You never lost me to begin with, we have our second chance now you're with me again and I won't let us miss the opportunity for you to turn me into the man I'm destined to become for you," Sirius professed. "As I said death is a mysterious thing and I can only stay here in your dreams with you for so long, I already feel the lethal force of it pulling me back. You have to wake up."_

 _"No! Please Sirius I want to stay with you. Please, please Sirius don't leave me again; please I want you to stay," she wept pleadingly._

 _Sirius' voice cracked, "Oh kitten you have no idea how much I want that too. I swear I'd hold onto you forever if I could, but it's time for us both to go."_

 _Hermione shook her head in blatant, speedy denial. Sirius wiped gently at her eyes as his own started their watering, "I know Pet," he comfortingly murmured. "I know, but we have to leave here. It's time for you to wake up. Wake up and fight Kitten. Fight for Harry, fight for you, fight for me if that's your wish, and please fight for us; fight to give me a real chance to fully love you. Just wake up Hermione. Wake up!"_

 _Her beloved disappeared as he made this final request to her and his voice echoed in the dungeon prison of her dreamscape as she grieved the unbearably familiar sensation of him leaving._

 _"Wake up…_

 _"Wake up…_

 _"Wake up..."_

 _His voice ricocheted all around her as her wobbling knees failed and she fell weeping to the ground to clutch them against the buzzing, bruising beat of the broken heart in her chest._

 _"Wake up!"_

Her eye's opened with a snap. 

Hope you enjoyed, the next chapter is already in the works so I'll try to have it up a little sooner. Remember, and I'm not trying to guilt you, but I love reviews thus getting one make my day… Anyway thanks soooo much for reading, I love you guys oodles and hope you come back next time! =)

~3lw


	13. Chapter 12: Stage Six: The Upward Swing

**AN** : I'm backkkkk! Sorry for yet another long wait, but life is crazy and as much as I love writing and sharing with you guys sometimes it's insanity and mine get in the way a little, haha (3lw shyly hides behind a curtain of her hair, which is coincidently a mop of riotous curls suitable to rivaling even Hermione Grangers wild tresses). Anyway she's finally awake from her crippling depression and I had a lot of fun writing this; I hope you do the same reading it! Stuffs going to start going down soon and were really going to be getting into some **Sirius** action and drama in the coming chapters so I'm hyped, hehe (grins mischeviously)… Enjoy!

 **Warning** : I still suck at poof reading

 **Disclaimer** : I'm not J.K. Rowling so I own nothing, Not Harry Potter and not anything else… yeah I'm realllll broke

Chapter twelve: Stage 6: The Upward Swing

She looked awful, Hermione thought as she regarded her haggard appearance in the mirror for the first time in weeks, apparently grief was a powerful thing as this was the second time in a glaringly short time frame that Hermione had gone radio silent for time unending. Her hair had become an oil filled mess that rivaled that of her loathsome potions Professor, Snape during her perpetual hiatus from consciousness; not that she would point the cosmetically and hygienically challenged aspects of his mien out to the apathetic man; hated, deceitful, betraying murders or not Hermione was, for the most part, not inclined towards blatantly disrespecting the adults and authorities in her life. When the situation called for it she could be much more discreet in her vengeance-even if the offender deserved nothing less than a transparent display of her disregard- she was a Gryffindor true enough, but she could still be sly when provoked. She may be a lion and there may be times that she would roar and throw about her considerable strength as a wildland queen, but she could also stalk her prey before she pounced when circumstances required; and that snake of a man would inherently reply better to an underhanded assault on his character than an angered declaration of his being a 'greasy git,' at this point he reveled in such accusations as his chance to bring about a multitude of Gryffindor detentions; besides, while those descriptors were apt enough, he was much worse than such petty, childhood insults now… plus at this point Hermione could be called greasy in a way as well and that made it far from enough to define the callous depravity of the cunning bat of the dungeons.

Looking back in the mirror after her disparaging recollection of her much hated former professor she saw for the first time- despite her initial musings attesting to the unpleasant surprise felt at her own obvious deterioration- how truly **appalling** she looked. Upon her further observation, in the end, though her hair, matted and greased as it was, certainly posed an unappealing problem, it was the utter deadness in her eyes that most disturbed her. She stared at her visage in mortified wonderment as she asked herself, _Have I really let myself fall this far? Have I really let myself forget my promises to Sirius,_ _ **my Sirius**_ _? My promises to Harry and myself?_

She frowned as she poked at her checks and pulled down at the skin of her lower eyelids as if to check and see if the wrecked girl reflected in the mirror was really there, was really her. Yup, the vacant eyed, shattered reflection of woman copied her motions and she wistfully wished it was simply a fragmented mirror that made her seem so broken.

Hermione slapped water into her grieving face, a countenance taut with remorse. _Poor Pippsy,_ the witch thought as she went in pursuit of her tooth brush, digging through the bottomless beaded bag that held the only material possessions she brought along into her new reality, _I must have been a nightmare to care for and she must have so many responsibilities already._ Hermione couldn't bear the thought of being the reason for one of the sweet little creatures' she championed for overworking themselves, she resolved that as soon as she was cleaned up she would do something to assist the little elf, even if it was just cleaning her room she had to get her metaphorical shit together; not that she would generally use such language to call it as such but if the shoe fits...

As Hermione reveled in the cool mint sensation of a post brushing swish of mouthwash she turned to start a near scolding shower, hoping the skin reddening heat would burn away not just the abundance of grime accumulated on her physical person, but that thickly layered dirt which was mounted on her spirit as well.

She sighed in momentary pleasure at the soothing feel of her favorite raspberry crème scented soap running down her skin in a waterfall of fragrant suds, she rejoiced in her fleeting folly of packing such luxuries when planning a trip of flight, when she was on the run from the darkest of dark wizards, Voldemort. Well, when thought about logically she supposed it was actually a trip in search of Voldemort more so then away from him, their quest after all was to find him, or rather pieces of him and his tainted soul through the appalling, essence protecting horcruxs he'd created; but they were also trying to hide from him and his brownnosing little henchmen as well, so perhaps they were technically still on the run? The situation was really quite convoluted and, as her creamy, scented soap and all of its comforts cascaded in suds down her body, she smiled forlornly as such irrationally packed frivolities temporarily allowed her to forget where she really was. Hermione thought she must sound extremely ridiculous with the small, little moans she emitted while massaging her Honeysuckle Shampoo into her scalp, but she didn't have the energy to care as her mind was floating in a land of physicality that gave thoughts of emotion or mentality no measure of importance.

Her luxurious escape under the torrent of her sudsy, gushing showered waterfall was a short one, she mused that she could've stayed under it massaging deluge forever if it weren't for the sirens call her melody of pleasurable, guttural resonances in response proved to be for a certain canine leaning marauder. Or perhaps he thought of it more as the wail of an enraged banshee as his first word upon wrenching open the bath's door was, "Oh, can it already Marlene!," the man demanded irately, "I already told you last night that I didn't want to go another round, with you anyway," the astronomically dubbed dog star murmured distractedly in a corrective afterthought, "a quick fuck is all I needed and I told you that last night when you tried to get me to stick around afterward. You following me home with this whole needy stalker routine is getting old, one day I find you naked on the breakfast table saying you were my next meal and now you're in here beckoning like a two knut harlot on a slow night, give it a rest already or are you really that desperate," Sirius Black sneers in annoyance as he yanks at the showers oceanic themed paisley curtain in a harsh tug.

~o~O~o~

Sirius awoke with a serious -pun obviously intended, he was a marauder after all- case of morning wood, this wasn't unusual, especially of late with his recurring dreams of a witch with luscious coffee and chestnut curls and eyes more intoxicating then the richest of whiskeys writhing in wanton bliss beneath him, but he'd thought he'd worked the issue out with the good hard fuck he'd given his longtime 'booty call,' as the muggles called it, last night. The gorgeous, shapely little witch was making the most enticing of noises as she drew his prick deeper into her tightly clenching inner walls, the impiously gratifying mews seemed so real to life as she pushed her ample bosom invitingly up to him in lustful abandon. Her desirous moans were a near tangible song of harmonizing passion that stayed with him even after his eyes had opened and cleared of the inevitable daze of post slumber. He soon discovered why this was as the fog cleared further and he realized that these swooning sighs **were** happening in real time, in this very house, in the loo down the hall, and they were unerringly calling to him… and then they were angering him.

He knew it couldn't be Lily and James having an early morning romp in the shower as James was away on order business, and aside from that he knew Lily's grunts of gratification were much less demure then the ones heard now, very fitting of her fiery and unyielding personality; you better believe that with years of experience as the roommate of the much enamored James Potter's he was very familiar with both those grunts, and that personality. So with Lily nixed from his list of subjects there could only be one culprit left, clearly Marlene was back to her obsessive tendencies and was trying to seduce him once again; after all the only other two people in the house baring the genitalia required to make such sounds were either too old from him to even consider capable of arousal, and on second thought, also possessing of their own, private, ensuite, or, in the hurricane's case, too bundled in a catatonic lump down the hall to be making such sounds. Sirius may be known to think with his indefatigable cock often but he refused to let it run his life, especially where this incomprehensive witch was concerned, when would she learn that she had no claim to him? Perhaps a clarifying dose of early morning embarrassment would do the trick? Or maybe not, he was quite the attractively addicting sexual specimen after all.

Determination shined in his stormy grey eyes as he marched from his room to burst in on the noisy shower temptress, he would teach her to mess with the mind of Sirius Black if it was the last thing he ever managed in his earthly life. "Oh, can it already Marlene! I already told you last night that I didn't want to go another round, with you anyway," he raged with scorn in his seamlessly sickened voice, "a quick fuck is all I needed and I told you that last night when you tried to get me to stick around afterward. You following me home in this whole needy stalker routine is getting quite old, one day I find you naked on the breakfast table saying you were my next meal and now you're in here beckoning like a two knut harlot on a slow night, give it a rest already! Or are you really that desperate?"

As he pulled harshly on the showers modesty drapes his jaw drops in shock as before him stood not Marlene McKinnon, but the brunette goddess that had been haunting his dreams, the goddess whose presence he refused to acknowledge in wakefulness. The suds running enthrallingly down her luscious curves captured his undivided attention as she stood stark and surprised before his roving gaze, his wandering eyes were quickly drawn elsewhere as the witch, who had now recovered enough to assimilate herself to her surroundings and the circumstances behind them to become incensed, moved quickly. A wave of her hand had the cleansing stream of her relaxing wash ceasing and a fluffy red towel twinning around her enrapturing body. "You're not Marlene," he muttered dumbly, something he'd likely slap himself for later.

She commanded he concentrate his lasciviously peripatetic considerations elsewhere as her hair crackled with unrestrained wrath fueled energy and her eyes of the most potent brown liquor blazed in their incendiary ire. "Obviously," she acknowledged before practically growling at him to, "Get out of the bathroom," and he denied his inclination to declare her gesture rather cute, if not obsolete, when she had to incline her head a considerable bit to meet his gaze and had her tiny, little fists balled against her towel covered hips in an adorable display of indignation that was not at all intimidating. No, he was Sirius Black, he did not use such labels as 'cute' or 'adorable,' sexy and hot were his drinks of choice; he treaded towards the more erogenous side of adjective use.

Sirius' chuckle was unbidden as his amused gaze met her livid one, "and what will you do if I don't," he taunted mirthfully.

Her furious eyes narrowed as she glared at him, "I'll hex you into oblivion of course, I was having a perfectly good wash until you interrupted, thank you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You and what wand," Sirius smirked.

"Well certainly not the one you're pointing at me," she seethed, indicating his engorged lower zone. "Though you may not have noticed with your concentration focused elsewhere, but there is such a thing as wandless magic, a concept I'm quite familiar with as it stands; or did you're posturing prick have you missing out on those school lessons as well?"

The dark haired animagus barked a harsh and now most certainly unamused snigger as he raised his heckles in return, "don't flatter yourself pet, you are no distraction to me, it takes a special kind of woman to prove such a temptation. Perhaps there was one in my class on wandless magic," he pondered aloud, "but I find I learn quite well on my own," with that announcement, a grandiose flick of the wrist, and a cocky wink, he had her intricately wrapped towel dress cover disappearing as he sauntered from the stream filled room leaving the gapping witch behind; her mouth opening and closing like a fish as her justifiably fury addled brain came up empty of retort.

Her head shook as she physically cleared it of its enraged fog, uncaring of her indecently exposed body, he'd clearly already seen it all anyway, she unabashedly stalked after him, "get back here you mangy mutt, or I'll fill you're room with a barrage of wiz-bangs sufficient to flattening the Himalayas and put enough little pet snakes in your boots to make even Woody the Cowboy shiver," she screeched.

 _What's a wiz-bang and who the fuck is Woody the Cowboy,_ Sirius wonders but outwardly he heckled, "so now you **want** me to see you naked, chasing after me like the lusty whore you are; no woman can resist Sirius Black," he announced in a manner that sounded nearly resigned.

Angry tears cloud Hermione's eyes but she refuses their falling as she rants back, "I have no clue who this apparent 'Marlene' character is but I feel sorry for her, you're an arrogant philanderer who goes wherever his ravening little prig leads and if she wants to 'go another round' with a man, I'm sorry, **boy** , like that she's obviously either stupid, deluded, or a few pebbles short of a gobstones set; believe that if I **was** a 'lusty whore' none of that lust would be for a degenerate pig like you."

Sirius is silent as the door to the room he was known to slyly peek through for a surreptitious, disavowed check after its silent inhabitant, slams in his face, he growls his dissatisfaction as the stomp of his receding footsteps precede the slamming of his own door.

He didn't know in whom he was most frustrated with, in himself, for making her cry those fuming little tears he saw her rebuke from dripping out of the glistening pools they called home in the corners of her clouded eyes, or in her, for her for making him care, despite his adamant denials of doing such, about the fact that she had tears in her eyes…

Scratch that he was definitely more frustrated with her, he could write his caring off as his Order borne duty, as she was essentially his latest charge -what with the strange circumstances surrounding her arrival and Dumbledore's assigning her to the very safe house in which he resided, thus naming him responsible for seeing to her safely arriving there-, but what he couldn't write off was the way she managed to infuriatingly wriggle her way under his skin, infuriating him with their every interaction. That was all her and it was all vexatious, all predisposing to his desire to hate her.

She was standoffish, with him more so than anyone, polite and courteous enough when exchanging pleasantries, amusing and lovely even, when she was alert enough to the world around her to be so, but the second one looked deeper you could see some form of deception swirling in her whiskey depths, and the moment you brought attention to that deceit the silence started. She retreated into herself after ragging, usually at him, as he was the only one to see past her shy smiles and insufferable 'amnesia' routine, and becoming a shell of herself; a catatonic cocoon of blankets and the innately entrenched despair he'd apparently dredged up from her. She looked at him as if she knew him at times, times that looked as if she lamented this ostensible familiarity as her eyes held such a deep-seated sorrow that he couldn't help but recoil from it. How could he evoke such powerful feelings of regret in a women of whom he had no memory? Surely he would remember someone he'd impacted so? Her seeming knowledge of him was a source of extreme discomfort for him, a war was not a time for one to be confused or lacking in an understanding that, to all appearances, seemed distinctly important. What made it worse was that on some instinctual level he did recognize her, as if his heart his soul, his very being was trying to remember a meeting that never came to pass and it was tearing him apart.

So of course her duplicity was a source of his potent loathing. That and her magnetizing, unrelenting abilities to enrapture him, consequently achieving the previously undone, and thought impossible, task of holding his attraction for more than five minutes. Sure he'd been known to chase around a good romp in the sack with a few prudish bitties that gave him a run for his money, he did so love a challenge, but the second he'd given the arrogant beauties that thought themselves immune to his charms a good hard screwing his fascination was gone. He kept a few of the more talented witches on as fuck buddies but that was as far as their allure took him, there wiles attracted him nowhere beyond a sexual level.

But this witch, Hermione Granger, awoke a desire to protect in him, a desire to mark and own and know ever crevice of her body mind and soul. It was something in her eyes, they pulled him in a way he'd never been pulled. Called him in a way he'd never been called. The swirling brown hues awoke a warmth similar yet different to the one he felt when around his Marauder family and the honorary parents he had in Dorea and Charlus Potter; a warmth similar yet different to what he felt when he thought of the fond early memories he had of his young, now despised brother. Had he not known better he would say those feeling were love, but Sirius Black did not love, not when he didn't have to, not in the romantic sense of the word; it only opened you to hurt and Sirius certainly had enough of that without letting some doe-eyed slip of a women into his life… This meaning he especially didn't love curly haired hurricanes that blew into his life on the tailwinds of lies and secrecy to take over its every aspect; no he hated those kinds of storms, no matter how beautiful they were.

 **I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter of TDA, let me know what ya think, scold me for the wait whatever, but please stay tuned and remember that I love you for even taking a few minutes out of your day to read this story, or rather outlet for all of my crazy… ;) Hope to see you next chapter!**

 **Love,**

 **3lw**


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